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WILFRED 


A STORY WITH A HAPPY ENDING. 




BY 


A. T. WINTHROP. 



NEW YORK: 

ANSON D. F. RANDOLPH & COMPANY, 

38 WEST TWENTY- THIRD STREET. 



COPYRIGHT, 1880, BY 

Anson D. F. Randolph & Co. 


COPYRIGHT, 1889, BY 

Anson D. F. Randolph & Co. 


PRESS OF 

E. 0. JENKINS' SONS 
NEW YORK. 






PUBLISHERS’ NOTE. 


In issuing the present edition of Wilfred, in 
which some typographical errors of previous edi- 
tions have been corrected, and a few sentences, in 
no wise modifying or changing the original story, 
have been added, the publishers desire to state that 
the book was first published from the author s 
MS, in the spring of 1880, and has not beefi out 
of print since that time. 

The publishers have deemed it 7 iecessary to make 
this statement concerning the date of original is- 
sue because of certain resembla 7 ices in plot and 
incident between the story i?/' WILFRED and that 
of Little Lord Fauntleroy, published five 
years later. 


September, 1889. 


PREFACE. 


In these pages I have endeavored to call the 
attention of parents to the importance of early relig- 
ious training, believing that the best and strongest 
foundation of Christian character is laid at an age 
when children are by many supposed incapable of 
individual thought. It is with this earnest hope 
that I write “ Finis ” to the story of my sweet 
Wilfred. A. T. W. 


TO THE MEMORY 

OF 

HY BELOVED IN HEAVEN 
^tors {J5 30c&icat£lJ, 

IN TOKEN OF 


A SISTER’S LOVE. 


% 


I 


WILFRED. 

A STORY WITH A HAPPY ENDING. 


CHAPTER I. 

I T was one of those choice days in J une, when 
the sun shines as brightly in London as in 
Florence, when the turf is as fresh and verdant 
in the parks, as on the breezy Hampshire downs, 
and a pair of sparrows chased each other among 
the green boughs as blithely, as if coquetting 
far from human haunts, instead of in Green 
Park, within sound of the ceaseless roar of Pic- 
cadilly. 

Perhaps it was to watch their manoeuvres 
that a little lad had paused on his way, and 
stood now, leaning against a tree. If so, they 
had ceased to interest him, for his eyes were 
raised with a look which denotes intense pre 
occupation, till suddenly clasping his hands, he 
exclaimed in low, passionate tones : 

I know I could do it ! '' 

“ Do what, my child ? ” And the astonished 

( 5 ) 


WILFRED. 


(S 

boy looked round, to meet the glance of a pair 
of kindly gray eyes. 

For a moment, embarrassment and surprise 
sealed his lips, and then the fervent desire to 
which he had given involuntary utterance, over- 
came all hesitation. 

Oh ! Monsieur, I want to sing.** 

Well, and who prevents you ? ** 

I should have it to learn, and there is no one 
to teach it me.** 

‘‘ What do you want to sing ? ‘ God save the 
Queen ? * ’* 

I can sing it now, Monsieur,** and the ghost 
of a smile flickered over the serious little face : 
“ And I can sing ‘ Rule Britannia,* and ^ Au Clair 
de la lune,' and ‘ Salute a Ma Patrick and many 
chansons more. I sing alway to Winnie when 
she is tired, and ' ma mie * is occupee.** 

‘‘And who is Winnie?** 

“ She is ‘ ma mu s * little girl, and she is lame 
and can not walk herself like the other chil- 
dren.** 

“ How many brothers and sisters have you ? ** 

“ I have not any at all. Monsieur.** 

“ Why, I thought you said Winnie was your 
mother’s child ? ** 


WILFRED. 


7 


mie' is Winnie’s mother, but viy ina- 
vum is in heaven with iher papa.” And the blue 
eyes filled with tears, and the sweet, childish 
voice trembled. 

Then who is this you call Mammy ? Come 
here, my lad, and tell me all about it,” and fol- 
lowed by the child, the gentleman seated him- 
self on a bench in the shade and motioned his 
little companion to a place beside him. 

“Now tell me all you can remember about 
yourself ; begin at the beginning,” and his look 
of attention showed that the boy had awakened 
in him no ordinary degree of interest. 

“ Begin at the beginning? that is a long time 
ago. Monsieur. We did not live in London 
then, and I do not remember where it was, but 
there was a grand chateau^ and much music, and 
many officers in red coats, with gold, like papa. 
Then we went to a place where there were roses 
growing over the windows, and it was near the 
sea, and I used to walk on the shore with papa 
and maman and see the great waves roll in, and 
I had a little bucket and spade, and papa used 
to build for me des forteresses of sand, but the 
waves would wash them alway away! And 
then papa would make me to ride on the donkey 


8 


WILFRED, 


and he used to take us out in a little boat with 
a white sail, and we would stay a long time, 
and take our dejeuner in a basket with us, and 
sometimes the boat would so rock, that maman 
would have fear ; but I never had, and papa 
called me his little ‘Jack Tar,' and papa used to 
sing, oh ! divinement bien ! " 

Evidently the present was forgotten in recol- 
lections of the past, for the boy ceased his story 
and a smile of pleasure lighted up the wan little 
face. His companion, too, was silent, and a look 
of perplexity darkened the gray eyes. 

Sir Robert Elliot, M.P., was a man who lived 
to benefit his fellow-men, equally at home in 
haunts of poverty, and in circles of refinement 
and wealth ; with an ear ever ready to listen to 
a tale of sorrow or of joy, and a hand ever 
ready to help those who needed aid. Many 
a strange story had come to his knowledge 
through intercourse with the poor, but here 
was something which puzzled him. 

The contrast between the boy's coarse cloth- 
ing and patched shoes, and his sweet face, and 
refinement of speech and manner ; his English 
features, and French accent, and gestures; and 
above all, between his past and present life, per- 


WILFRED. 


9 


plexed him. Every word of his simple tale 
was proof that this was no common child, and 
for an instant a wild idea that he had been kid- 
napped, flashed across Sir Robert's mind, to be 
dispelled the next by the lad himself. 

Glancing up from his revery, to see if his new 
friend was still listening, he went on of his own 
accord : 

The next thing I remember. Monsieur, was 
one day when nurse brought me in from the 
sands, I found maman crying, and papa was so, 
so angry ! And he had a letter in his hand to 
read to mmnan., and he threw it on the floor, 
and cried out, ^ Curse him ! ' and maman 
screamed, ‘ (9/^, non., non, non, C'est ton p^re ! ' 
and then she called nurse to take me away, and 
I cried, for I was frightened to see papa and 
maman so unhappy. 

‘‘I think it must have been the next day, 
that they went away and left me with nurse, 
and when they kissed me, I cried much, till 
papa said, he knew his little ‘Jack Tar' would 
stop crying, and be a brave boy and mind 
nurse, while they were gone, and after that he 
was gone, he ran back and hugged me, oh ! so 
tight, and kissed me many times. 


lo 


WILFRED, 


‘‘ It seemed a long time before maman came 
back, and whenever I asked nurse why they 
stayed so long and when they would come home, 
to take me out in the boat again, she would say 
alway, ‘ Oh ! do not tease. Master Wilfred ; be 
a good boy and play with your pretty shells,’ 
till I was tired of them and did not amuse my- 
self of them any more, and after maman came 
back, I gave them all to a little girl on the sands. 

Dear papa did not come back with maman^ 
and she told me he had gone quite away in a 
ship over the sea, and we should take care of 
each other till he came again. After that 
we never used to go in the boat any more, 
and maman only smiled sometimes, but never 
laughed, and often her eyes were red with cry- 
ing. When she would try to sing to me, it al- 
way made her to cry, so I left off asking her. I 
think nurse must have gone away when maman 
came home, for I remember her no more, and 
maman used to wash and dress me herself, and 
we always prayed le bon Dieu et la Sainte 
Vierge, to have care of papa, and we would 
kiss every night and morning his picture, that 


WILFRED. 


II 


maman w^ore round her neck. ^ Ma mie ' says le 
bon Dieu is angry if we pray to the Holy Vir- 
gin, and that she can not hear us, and it is wrong 
to pray to her. Do you think it is wrong. 
Monsieur?'' he asked wistfully. And what 
could he say ? 

Tell him that his dead mother had taught 
him error? Shake his pure faith in the being 
who had so well succeeded in teaching her child 
the earliest precept of Divine example, that 
the very thought of disobedience to her word 
was pain and grief to him? Tell him that she, 
who had so imbued his child-heart with that 
love to God which prompted his desire to 
praise Him in His holy temple," had herself 
prayed amiss? He could not, dared not do it. 

Our blessed Lord tells us to pray to Him 
alone, my child, but I don't think He would be 
angry with you for doing as your dear mother 
taught you," answered Sir Robert with moisten- 
ing eyes, and with a satisfied air, the boy went 
on. 

‘‘ Maman would sew herself to make our 
clothes, for after papa went away, the man in 
Paris did not send her any more pretty toilettes^ 
nor any more little jackets trimmed with braid, 


12 


WILFRED. 


for me. I did not play on the sands after nurse 
left, for that mantafi would not have me go 
alone but we walked out every day* and she 
often went to see a poor fish-wife, who was ill, 
and to read to blind Jacques, who lived under 
the cliff, for he was French too, and could un- 
derstand ntaman, I did my lessons with her 
every day, so I could learn to write to papa. 

I think we must have lived a long time by 
the sea, for I did learn to write, and letters 
came often from papa, and one day, one came 
with a great seal, and maman opened it, and fell 
back quite dead. 

I screamed and called to our landlady and 
she came quickly and put water on maman $ 
face, and I rubbed her hands, and Mme. Tibbs 
said she was not dead, but I might kill her if I 
screamed like that, so I tried to be quiet, and 
by and by she opened her eyes and looked to 
me. Mme. Tibbs gave her something hot to 
drink, and put her to bed, and maman said only 
‘ MerciJ but lay with her eyes shut till she went 
down-stairs, and then she said to me in such a 
low voice, ^Viens id, mo7t fils' " 

The sweet tones faltered and grew husky, and 
then he went on with an effort. 


WILFRED. 


13 


‘‘She told me my papa was dead and they 
had buried him in a strange country where we 
could not see his grave, but sometime we should 
see him in heaven. Mama?i was very ill, and 
then we left Madame and crossed the sea to 
Boulogne and lived in a very little house with 
an old woman, named Mere Susette, and maman 
made clothes for little children, and Mere Su- 
sette sold them to the ladies at the hotels. But 
she never was strong any more, and could not 
eat the nice things Mere Susette brought her, 
and one day when she was very ill, she said : 

“ ‘Wilfred, mon fils, I will take you to London 
to pray your grandpere to care for you when I 
am gone, for I soon shall go to papa, mon cheri ; 
and I must try once more for your sake.' 

“ I did not cry, for maman often told me she 
would soon leave me, but I knew papa would be 
so glad to have her come, and that she would be 
strong and well in heaven, and I did not want to 
be selfish. ‘ Ma mie ' says every one is content 
in heaven, and there is no pain or trouble, and 
the angels are singing alway. Do you believe 
that. Monsieur?" 

Sir Robert bowed his head, and again the 
satisfied look came on the boy's face. 




WILFRED. 


We crossed the sea, and came here that 
very day, and it rained and was cold, and ma- 
man could scarcely stand, but I held her tight, 
and at last she said, ‘ C'est trop tard^ and sat 
down on a seat at the station, and she took off 
the medallion with papa’s picture, and put it 
round my neck with her ring, and she gave me 
a little pacquet^ and put it inside my blouse, and 
told me never to part from it. 

‘‘ I did not know what to do ; it was so cold, 
and maman was burning hot, but shivering, 
and she seemed in such a hurry when she spoke, 
I could scarcely understand. But she leaned 
on my shoulder and went to the door of the 
station and bade me call an officer standing 
there, and she put money in his hand, and 
said, VHotel Dieul I do not think ma- 
man knew she said it in French, and the man 
did not understand, and I did not know to say 
it in English then, but he saw how she was ill, 
and said, ‘ To the Hospital ? ’ and maman bowed 
her head, and he called a cab and told the driver 
where to go. She died that night,” sobbed the 
boy, and the nurse at the hospital gave me to 
her sister — to take care of, and she is Winnie’s 
mother.” 


WILFRED. 


15 

Tears from older eyes than his, fell on the 
bowed head, and it was several seconds before 
Sir Robert could command his voice. When he 
did, it was to ask if he still had the locket and 
package ? 

^‘Yes, ^ ma mie' had them locked up in her 
strong box, and ‘ ma mie ’ often let him kiss 
papa's picture at night, but she told him never 
to tell any one she had them, or they might be 
stolen away," and then for the first time it 
seemed to flash on the child’s mind that he had 
confided his story and its precious secret to a 
stranger ! 

A look of consternation came into his face, 
but looking up at the kind, tearful eyes, he 
seemed reassured, and saying, ‘‘ Please, Mon- 
sieur, never tell anybody," he stood up to go. 
Having explained exactly where 7na mie " 
lived, and that her name was Green, the lad 
touched his shabby cap with the air of a little 
prince, and went on his way, and Sir Robert 
hurrying down St. James Street to his Club, 
found he had kept an old friend waiting half an 
hour for dinner. 

Meantime, worthy Mrs. Green sprinkled her 
clothes with tears, as she stood over her ironing- 


i6 


WILFRED, 


table, long after the two children were asleep, 
and lay down that night with a heart filled with 
forebodings of evil, to come through the visit of 
this stranger on the morrow, to the boy she had 
taken in charity and kept for love. 

Whatever could have possessed the child ! ' 


CHAPTER II. 


¥T was five o’clock in the afternoon. The 
sparrows were twittering noisily under the 
eaves, and a white butterfly hovered above some 
plants growing in boxes on the window-sills of 
a low house in a very quiet court. Occasionally 
some vender of shell-fish or fruit, passed by on 
the way to more crowded streets, or a dilapi- 
dated individual made the air ring with the 
melancholy cry of Old Clo.” Now and then 
a busy housewife stepped to the door to rest 
for a moment from her labors within, or to call 
to order an unruly urchin making discord 
among the children gathered here and there on 
the doorsteps. The day had been unusually 
sultry for the season, and altogether a certain 
stillness born of heat brooded over that very 
respectable quarter known as Gordon’s Court, 
when clear and sweet rose a voice from the up- 
per windows of the low house where the flowers 
grew on the sills, with the butterfly hovering 


over. 


a 


( 17 ) 


i8 


WILFRED. 


How that boy o’ neighbor Green’s do sing,” 
remarked one matron to another, whose tousled 
head at that moment appeared at the open win- 
dow next door. ‘‘ Sometimes when I do be 
over-busy, it a’most worrits me, but most times 
1 like to hear him.” 

He do sing like a hangel,” responded the 
other, “ and neighbor Green might bind him out 
to a play-hactor and earn a heap o’ money, only 
she’s so ’igh and mighty in her notions. I know 
if / had him. Missus Hollis, he should be adoing 
somethink for his living.” Having expressed 
which opinion for the fiftieth time, she called to 
her eldest girl sitting on the doorstep trying to 
amuse a very cross baby, to come in and help 
get supper, and straightway withdrew the tousled 
head, and went back to her household affairs. 

“ ‘ France adoree, 

Douce contree ! ’ ” 

sang the boy, but neighbor Hollis no longer 
listened, for all the visible eyes of Gordon’s 
Court we^e gazing on a most unusual appari- 
tion ! 

A strange gentleman, with a cane in his hand, 
and a gold eye-glass — a real gentleman, tall and 


WILFRED. 


19 


handsome and stately, but with a friendly look 
in his eyes withal — came slowly down the court, 
looking at the numbers on the houses, and 
stopped under Dame Hollis's very eyes, at Mrs. 
Green's door. 

Here was an event indeed, and what would she 
not have given, to have followed him inside the 
low house, as the door closed after him ! Should 
she make some excuse, and just drop in ? But 
no, Mrs. Green was not one with whom liberties 
could be taken, and would never believe she had 
come in accidental," and beside she knew bet- 
ter, having lived once in a 'igh family " before 
she became Mrs. Joe Hollis, and the model of 
good-breeding for Gordon's Court. 

“ When I was living at Hashley 'All," was the 
sentence oftenest on her lips, and so many and 
varied were the experiences of that period of 
her life, that now and then a shrewd neighbor 
would hint incredulity by some dry remark. 

To be sure. Missus Hollis, an' you must have 
been a'most worn out with so many things a-hap- 
pening, in such a few years !" sensible Fanny 
Green (who had been lady's-maid in a noble- 
man's family) had once said to her ; but the sar- 
casm fell short of the mark, as it generally does 


20 


WILFRED. 


when aimed at self-complacency, and Mrs. Hollis 
held her place as a '' very genteel person, who 
had seen a deal of hgh life in her time.'’ 

With trembling hands did Mrs. Green answer 
the knock at her door, for which she had been 
listening all day, with strong apprehensions of 
evil. 

Not quite three years before, her sister, who 
was nurse in one of the hospitals, had driven up 
in a cab one dark, rainy afternoon, bringing with 
her a little lad about seven years old. His 
mother was dead, and in his desolation he clung 
to nurse Brinton, in a way which appealed 
strongly to her motherly heart. Gently had she 
unclasped his hands and sitting down with him 
before the fire, she told how a foreign lady had 
driven up to the hospital in a dying state, two 
nights before, with only this little boy and without 
luggage. How she had become unconscious be- 
fore they could get her to her room, and mur- 
mured all night in a language none of the nurses 
could understand, until a sudden hemorrhage 
ended her life, and she died, leaving no clue to 
her history, unless the package fastened inside 
the boy’s blouse or the locket round his neck, 
could throw light on the matter. 


WILFRED. 


21 


There was some foreign money in the lady's 
pocket, enough to pay for decent burial, and a 
small sum over, which the sisters had agreed to 
expend in a suit of black for the child, as his little 
gray blouse was sadly worn. 

No one had opposed nurse Brinton's plan, 
and the physician of the ward, having asked if 
her sister could afford to take him, gave himself 
no further trouble. 

Whether wisely or not, she scarcely knew, 
but she had kept to herself the secret of the 
locket and sealed packet, and enjoining silence 
on the boy, she and Mrs. Green concluded to 
wait till they could lay the whole matter before 
a lady, in whose service they had once been, and 
who never failed in her visits to London to look 
up the two sisters. 

On such proud occasions she was consulted 
on all their affairs, and was considered an unfail- 
ing oracle. Nurse Brinton at first thought of 
writing to Lady Charlotte, but it was too long a 
story for an uncertain pen, and so the little lad's 
history, as far as they knew it, remained safe in 
their keeping, and Mrs. Green had grown to 
look on him as so entirely belonging to her, that 
she had ceased to think much about it, when 


22 


WILFRED. 


Wilfred came home from an errand, and told of 
his conversation with the stranger, and his im- 
pending visit. 

Whatever could have possessed the child ! ” 
^^Salut d nia Patrie., ’ came the last joyous re- 
frain of Beranger’s ballad. 

I like that one best of all, Wilfred, since you 
told me what it means,*' a little feeble voice was 
saying. It must be so nice to go home when 
you've been away, and if you feel tired," added 
the child, wearily, as she turned on the other 
side to rest her poor little back. 

Winnie was not always in bed ; she generally 
sat in her little chair down-stairs, and once in a 
while mammy would hire a basket-carriage, and 
Wilfred and she would draw her into Green 
Park, where she could hear the birds sing, and 
see the trees waving in the wind, and children 
trundling their hoops, oh ! so merrily ! But the 
last time she had been out, in some way she had 
been jostled, or thought she had, and ever since 
the pain had been very bad, and she had been 
content to lie most of the day in her little cot. 

“ Wilfred ! Wilfred 1 " called Mrs. Green, from 
the foot of the narrow stairs. ‘‘ Come down 
and see the gentleman," and bounding into the 


WILFRED. 


2 ? 


little room below, came Wilfred, and greeted 
Sir Robert as an old friend, with the little for- 
eign manner which added to the boy's native 
grace. A few words from Mrs. Green had told 
what we already know, and then Sir Robett, 
listening to the song, asked her if she knew 
what a lovely voice it was, and questioned her 
as to the fervent desire whose expression had 
led to his acquaintance with her charge. 

‘‘Well, sir, you see singing is the most pleas- 
ure he has, and he's always after me to get him 
made a choir-boy at the Abbey, but I don't know 
rightly how to set about it ; and beside, sir, be- 
ing that Wilfred isn't like us poor folk (for any 
one can know he's a gentleman born, sir). I 
never like to put him forward, for fear harm 
might come to him, or he be took away from me. 
Not that I wouldn't be glad and proud to find 
out his own people," she added, “ but my sister 
and I are lone women and don't know how to 
help him, except to take care of him, and I do 
love him like my own. But the likes of you, sir, 
could do more for him than we, and if you can 
better him, we'd take in very kindly, sir," and 
she dropped a courtesy, though the tears in hei 
eyes showed how great the sacrifice would be. 


24 


WILFRED. 


Come here, my boy,’’ said Sir Robert, and 
tell me who it was you lived with at Boulogne ? 
With M^re Susette, Monsieur/’ 

Was it a pension ? ” 

Oh ! no. Monsieur, a little house like this and 
there was only Mfere Susette.” 

“ Well, if I wrote to M^re Susette, do you 
think she could tell me all about you ? ” 

No, he thought not. Had maman any 
friends in Boulogne? Only P^re Joseph, the 
curi., and maman did not like him, he was sure, 
for he wanted her to send him to the Seminaire, 
Pere Maurice had been very kind, but he had 
gone away before Pere Joseph came, and he did 
not know where he was, or he would have asked 
‘ ma mie ’ to let him write to him when mainan 
died. He never heard maman say anything 
about his grandfather, but he thought he must 
be very wicked to let her work so hard and die 
like thatP he ended, with a burst of tears. 

‘‘ There, there, my lammie,” said Mrs. Green, 
hurrying back from up-stairs, and glancing half 
reproachfully at Sir Robert as she patted the boy 
on the shoulder in her tender, motherly way. 


WILFRED. 


25 


In her hand she brought the little packet, and 
focket and chain. 

Now dry your eyes and show the gentleman 
what a beautiful gentleman your papa was. 
That's right, my darling," as he pressed the spring 
of the medallion, and with a touch of pride held 
up to view the miniature of a young and very 
handsome man, dressed in uniform. He had 
Wilfred's blue eyes and wavy hair, and a hap- 
py, smiling mouth. A genuine English face it 
was, open and frank, and with the half-haughty 
look which characterized the boy. 

‘^Wilfred," said Sir Robert, “what is your 
whole name ? " 

“ Wilfred Vernon Ferrars, Monsieur." 

“ Then your grandfather must be named 
Ferrars too ? " 

“ I suppose yes. Monsieur, but I have not heard 
maman say." 

“ May I open this ? " looking from the boy to 
Mrs. Green, and then breaking the seal of the 
packet. This probably would explain the whole 
matter, or at least afford a clue. 

Great, then, was Sir Robert's disappointment 
and surprise, to find it contained only a few old 
letters, and a very small Bible, inscribed “ W. C. 


26 


WILFRED. 


Ferrars, London/' Why had the Romish moth- 
er given this, as a treasure to her son ? The let- 
ters were dated from different points in India, 
^nd were simply such records of thought and 
feeling as any man would write to a beloved 
wife, but containing none of the information Sir 
Robert sought. Placing the packet in his pocket 
to be read more leisurely, he examined the locket. 
It was of dull red gold, with the monogram L. 
A. F. in brilliants. Nothing there to throw light 
on the subject, nor in the circlet of gold with 
W. C. F. a L. A. deB. 1854,” engraved inside. 

Wilfred, had your mother any books or pa- 
pers with her when she came to England?" 
asked Sir Robert after a moment's thought. 

He was not quite sure ; he had not seen her 
pack their box, but she had some books, and 
many letters from papa. He supposed the box 
was lost, though Pierrot had carried it to the 
boat, but he had never seen it since." Nothing 
to go on here either ! 

Well, at least his grandfather's name was Fer- 
rars, and his father had died at Agra of fever. 
That much he knew from the short official let- 
ter in the package — and how it had been received, 
poor Wilfred had already told. 


WILFRED. 


27 


‘‘ I have been telling the gentleman how you 
want to be a choir-boy, Wilfred,” said Mrs. 
Green, hoping to cheer him by suggesting his 
darling wish, for he stood dejectedly beside Sir 
Robert, with the look of pain on his face which 
reference to the past never failed to bring. In- 
stantly his whole expression changed, and he 
looked up with flushed cheek and sparkling 
eyes. Sing for him what you learned at the 
Abbey, the piece that Winnie loves,” said Mrs. 
Green, delighted at the encouraging effect of 
her words ; and only waiting for Sir Robert's : 

‘‘Yes, do, my child, I should like to hear it,” 
— ^with clasped hands and head slightly raised, 
the boy began the Nunc Dimittis. 

“ Now, Lord, lettest Thou Thy servant de- 
part in peace, since mine eyes have seen,” etc., 
and the clear, soft notes filled the little room 
with sweetest music. 

Sir Robert sat with closed eyes, drinking in 
every note. He could scarcely believe it possi- 
ble. Any choir would be proud of him ; nay, 
he was a genius. 

“ My boy, you have given me a treat indeed,” 
he said, laying his hand on his head as the last 


28 


WILFRED, 


note died away. ‘‘ You shall certainly be made a 
chorister. Do you know your voice is very 
beautiful ? ’’ 

Merci,, Monsieur/^ he replied, with a seri- 
ous, half-abstracted look on the lovely face, as if 
he had entered too fully into the spirit of the 
aged Simeon’s blessing to come back at once 
to things of the present. 

What makes Wilfred sing my hymn down- 
stairs when I’m not there?” murmured Winnie 
to herself, in her little cot above. 

Sir Robert went, taking the letters with him 
and promising to come soon again — went in view 
of all the admiring eyes of Gordon’s Court. 

‘‘I wonder what he come for?” said Mrs. 
Hollis to Mrs. Betts, whose head re-appeared 
at the window just in time for a glimpse at the 
stranger’s back, as he turned the corner. 

‘‘You may depend he’s a hopera singer come 
to see about Wilfred, for if he’d been a visitor, 
he’d have had better manners than to go on 
singing to Winnie while he was in the ’ouse. 
I bet you anythink she’s going to take my ad- 
vice at last and ’prentice him out,” and with this 
solution of the mystey, Gordon’s Court was 


WILFRED. 


29 


forced to be content, for Mrs. Green parried all 
questions on the subject, and that night, after 
the children were in bed, went quietly out, as 
she sometimes did, to the Hospital, to see nurse 
Brinton. 


CHAPTER III. 


A FORTNIGHT passed away and nothing 
further had been heard in Gordon’s Court 
of Sir Robert Elliott. Wilfred spent his time 
as usual, doing errands for 7na mie^' reading the 
books left for Winnie, by a district visitor, going 
to afternoon service at the Abbey when he had 
leave, and rushing home in wild excitement 
whenever he heard a new tune, to sing it for 
Winnie. 

Nurse Brinton had been round to spend the 
evening with Mrs. Green, and the sisters had sat 
long over their muffins and tea, discussing the 
propriety of having given up the letters, or of 
having taken a stranger into their confidence, at 
all — nurse Brinton generously said “ our,” but all 
the responsibility rested on Mrs. Green, and they 
both knew it, and the knowledge pressed heavily 
on 7na mie s'" heart, and added another line to 
those already written on her good, kind face. 

He was such a nice-spoken gentleman, and 
had such a kind way with him, Barbara,” she had 
said, looking wistfully at her sister. 

(30) 


WILFRED, 


31 


Yes, Fanny, I know, and you did it for the 
best ; although perhaps it would have been bet- 
ter to have consulted me,’' she added, with a 
touch of human nature. 

In my line, you see, I have to do with so 
many people, that I learn a deal of the ways of 
the world, and above all it don’t do to trust too 
much to fair speeches, for folks are often not 
what they seem to be.” 

‘‘Yes,” agreed her sister regretfully, “if I’d 
only gone to see you about it the night before, 
instead of the night after, he came, but I was 
late with my ironing and so worried in my mind. 
Dear, dear. I can’t think what ever could have 
made Wilfred do so ! It’s the first time he ever 
did a thing I told him not. But he was such a 
kind-spoken gentleman,” recurring again to the 
favorable impression made on her by the stranger, 
“ and he had real bonny eyes, and indeed, Bar- 
bara, I saw the tears in them while Wilfred was 
singing.” 

“ I suppose the hopera manager didn’t think 
so much of Wilfred’s singing after all, since 
we’ve heard nothink about it,” remarked Mrs. 
Betts to Mrs. Hollis that same afternoon. 


CHAPTER IV. 


S IR ROBERT, on returning home the even- 
ing of his visit to Gordon’s Court, found a 
telegram from Scotland announcing the dan- 
gerous illness of his only sister ; and placing Wil- 
fred’s letters in his secretary, he hurried North 
by the next train. From the time of his return 
he had been engrossed in business of importance 
closely affecting the interests of his constitu- 
ents, so that, although he had thought much of 
his little friend, he had had no time to pursue 
his investigation of the subject. As he walked 
up St. James Street now, he remembered the 
letters. This evening after dinner he would 
read them over, and also take the earliest op- 
portunity to get Wilfred enrolled among the 
choristers at the Abbey. 

‘‘There’s a gentleman in the drawing-room. 
Sir Robert,” said James, as he entered his house 
in Grosvenor Gardens. “He asked if you would 
be dining at ’ome to-day, sir, and when I told 
(32) 


WILFRED. 


33 


him yes, he said he’d come in and wait as he 
was an hold friend.” 

‘‘ Oh ! very well. Tell Slater to lay another 
place at table. Dinner at seven sharp to-day ; ” 
and James wended his way to the butler’s room 
after having lingered on the stairs long enough 
to hear his master’s greeting to the stranger. 

‘‘ Why, Lauriston, this is delightful ! When 
did you come to town ? I haven’t had such a 
pleasant surprise in a long time ; ” and Sir 
Robert shook his friend by the hand with a 
look of genuine affection. 

I only came to-day at noon,” responded the 
other, a thorough type of the English country 
gentleman, stout and rosy, with a benevolent 
expression on his comely features, and meriy^ 
laughing eyes. 

‘‘ Where’s your luggage ? ” 

“At my old quarters on Jermyn Street; 
only a portmanteau, for I can’t tarry long away 
from the roof-tree.” 

“ Very well ; I shall send my man for it, for I 
don’t lose sight of you again, old fellow, till I see 
you on the train to go back home.” 

After some slight demur on Mr. Lauriston’s 
part lest he should disarrange Sir Robert’s plans 
3 


34 


WILFRED. 


by accepting his invitation, he consented to re- 
main. 

For if I don’t, I shall see nothing of you 
and so lose the cream of my visit to town,” he 
concluded, seating himself contentedly in an 
easy-chair, while Sir Robert gave the address to 
a servant. 

‘‘And now tell me all about Lady Margaret 
and the bairns,” said his host, as they went 
down to dinner. 

“All well and blooming as roses. ‘ My lady ’ 
handsomer than ever, and little Margaret her 
very image.” 

“What! You don’t mean to tell me Edith 
isn’t any longer the baby ? ” 

“ Why, my good fellow, where have you been 
not to have heard of number ten, and she a year 
old come Michaelmas ? ” and the eyes of Pater- 
familias opened wide with a comical look of 
astonishment. 

Sir Robert laughed heartily. 

“ And what does my Lady Edith say to her 
dethronement ? ” 

“ Oh 1 she didn’t like it at all at first, but she’s 
very fond of baby now, and patronizes her in a 
most amusing way.” 


IV I L FRED. 


35 


‘‘And how are all the young ladies and my 
godson ? Do Denbigh and he get on well with 
the Latin and Greek now?” 

“ Geoffrey ? Oh ! Geoffrey is as delicious as 
ever,” and Mr. Lauriston rubbed his hands and 
laughed in a way which showed they had touch- 
ed on a favorite theme. “ But I’ve taken him 
away from Denbigh and sent him to Eton. 
That shows again how much you know about 
your friends in Devonshire. Now, if you’d come 
down for the shooting last September as we 
wanted you to do, you would have been better 
posted in the family politics. Well, I sent Geof- 
frey to Eton, because I found he wouldn’t study 
with Denbigh ; and when he didn’t know his 
lesson he would get out of it by staring at his 
boots.” 

“ By doing what f ” 

' “ Why, he’d stare at Denbigh’s boots till the 
poor fellow would get so uncomfortable that he 
scarcely knew whether Geof. was answering cor- 
rectly or not. I never knew it until I happened 
to overhear the young rascal telling Maude, and 
advising her to try the same game with Miss 
Browning.” 

A prolonged peal of laughter from Sir Robert, 


36 


WILFRED. 


chorused by Mr. Lauriston, greeted the recital 
of this novel instance of school-boy assurance. 

I could scarcely blame the boy/’ continued 
the father (hastily finishing the turbot which 
had grown cold on his plate, to the relief of the 
much-enduring Slater) ; for you couldn’t ex- 
pect a gay, rollicking young fellow like my Geof. 
to get on with such a grave, reserved man as 
Denbigh, and of late he’s been more like a ^ skull 
and cross-bones at a feast ’ than ever. Positively 
it makes me low-spirited to look at him in the 
pulpit on a Sunday, which is about the only 
time I ever see him, for on week-days, when he 
comes to luncheon. I’m always busy on the 
farm,” with a little laugh, and leave him to 
‘mamma’ or to Miss Browning and the girls. 
Of course it was very dull for Geoffrey to study 
alone beside, and although Denbigh is a saint, 
and all that we could desire in the parish, you 
know there are some learned men who make 
Greek letters grow more crooked, and who bury 
Latin roots deeper than nature intended, or at 
least than my Geof. is willing to dig,” ended up 
Mr. Lauriston, as if that made his argument 
conclusive. 

“ Does he like Eton 1 ” asked his god-father. 


WILFRED. 


37 


“ Oh, first-rate ! I wish you could have seen 
him when he came home at Christmas with his 
Eton hat and a cane! Fancy a lad of fourteen 
with a cane in our time ! Well, when I saw that 
hat and cane, I groaned inwardly, but I actually 
managed to hold my peace till I went up to 
dress for dinner, and then I had it out with ‘ my 
lady,' who was sitting before the fire with baby. 
She begged me not to say anything for the 
present, and I promised her I wouldn't, but all 
the same I railed at Eton for making a young 
prig of my jolly, rosy-cheeked boy. But the 
next day my young gentleman comes down to 
breakfast in his best rig, and when I called to 
him to go with me to look at the new South- 
downs, out he steps with hat and cane! Well, 
Elliott, I could have cried with vexation, or 
gone down on my knees and said, ‘ Geoffrey, 
my son, dont be a fool,' for ‘ straws show which 
way the wind blows,' you know, and Geof. never 
had had any nonsense about him before. But I 
remembered my promise. Presently he remarks, 
‘Papa, why do you wear those old corduroys?' 

Because I am going to the ha-ha with you, my 
boy,' I answered, amiably. ‘ I always have worn 
corduroys going over the farm, and my father 


38 


WILFRED. 


and grandfather did the same before me, but if 
you had mentioned it sooner, I would have put 
on my dress-coat.* 

He looked a little snubbed at that, but we 
talked on, and as we went by the Lodge, I 
stopped to speak to Deane’s wife, and Geoffrey, 
who had gone on to open the gate, turned back to 
tell me there was a strange lad outside inquiring 
for the gentleman of the place. ‘ Well, my son,’ 
said I, pleasantly, ^ you are the gentleman of the 
place, why don’t you ask him what he wants ? ’ 

I wish you could have seen his face ! I was 
some time talking to the stranger, who proved 
to be a shepherd lad looking for work, and did 
not notice that Geof. had left us, but before I 
got through, he came back in his every-day 
clothes and cap, and I’ve never had any cause 
to be afraid of his being made a prig of from 
that day to this,” said Mr. Lauriston. 

‘^Well, does he study better at Eton than 
with Denbigh ? ” asked Sir Robert, who as god- 
father to this only son of the house of Lauris- 
ton felt a genuine interest in the warm-hearted, 
merry boy. 

Oh, dear me, yes ! Gets on splendidly. 
He’s the fastest runner in his form and is on 


WILFRED. 


39 


the Cricket Eleven ! Think of that for a boy 
of fourteen ! '' was Mr. Lauriston’s triumphant 
reply. 

But as neither hare-and-hounds ” nor cricket 
can properly be numbered among the classics, 
his god-father was not immensely impressed by 
his attainments. 

You see, Bob, I don’t expect Geof. to turn 
out a profound scholar or a man of letters ; but 
what I do hope is that he will grow up a high- 
toned, generous-hearted gentleman who will do 
all the good in the world that he can, and take 
care of the tenants, and keep up the old place 
after Tm gone,” and a moisture gathered in 
Mr. Lauriston’s eyes. 

“ I don’t doubt, my dear fellow, that Geoffrey 
will be all that. He is certainly a boy of whom 
any one might be proud ; and if he turns out as he 
promises, I think he will be worthy of his father, 
and more than that, no one could ask,” and Sir 
Robert laid his arm affectionately on his friend’s 
broad shoulders as they went up-stairs to his 
sanctum, the room in which he spent most of 
his time when alone, and to which only his most 
intimate friends were admitted. 

Choice engravings lightened the somewhat 


40 


WILFRED. 


sombre-tinted walls, and a stuffed eagle, shot 
years before in the Tyrol, spread its dusky 
wings over a carved wooden rack, on which 
rested a collection of guns, rifles, and fire-arms 
of various kinds. Low book-cases filled with 
favorite authors stood in the niches of the 
room, and were ornamented by numerous pipes, 
meershaums, and other attributes to bachelor 
comfort. Rich Turkish rugs rendered one's 
footing more secure on the polished floor, and 
easy-chairs, covered with leather of the same 
dun hue as the walls, stood temptingly about. 
Tall India vases stood on either side of the 
chimney beside the old-fashioned fender, and 
scattered around everywhere were rare and 
curious objects collected in various quarters of 
the globe, by their owner. But the choicest 
treasure of them all, that which made this room 
sacred above all the rest, was the portrait of 
lovely Aileen O'Donnell, framed in velvet and 
gold above the carved chimney-piece. Twenty 
years ago she had been Sir Robert's promised 
bride, but in all the gladness of her nineteen 
years she died, and was laid to rest in the family 
burial-place, under the ruined arches of an an- 
cient abbey. Thither her lover went every 


WILFRED. 


41 


spring-time when the gorse grew golden on the 
Irish hills, and violets and daisies bloomed 
thickest on her grave. 

Not often in this world of ours do men re- 
main so faithful to a memory! For many 
months Sir Robert indulged his grief to the 
exclusion of every interest, and then his kindly 
nature turned lovingly to his fellow-men once 
more, and he sought a balm for his own sorrow 
in ministering to others. By degrees he again 
mingled in society, and finally consented to 
represent his native borough in Parliament, 
where he strove to use his influence for good. 
But the romance of his life was ended. The 
rugged places in his path would never more be 
made smooth, nor the heights of ambition be 
gilded for him by the light of love. The world 
pronounces such lives incomplete ; but the Mas- 
ter, when He giveth His beloved sleep,’' 
writes ‘^Well done,” and so closes the record 
with the seal of His everlasting blessing 1 


CHAPTER V. 


L AURISTON,” said Sir Robert, looking 
up from his escritoire an hour or two 
later, as his friend returned from visiting an old 
chum, “ do you know anything of the family of 
Ferrars ? 

‘^Well, yes” — from the comfortable depths 
of an easy chair. There was Herbert Ferrars, 
you remember, who was with us at Merton, and 
died soon after, poor fellow ; and there was that 
good-for-nothing Conyngham Scott Ferrars, with 
the handsome wife, who was about town in our 
young days. Ran through all his fortune, Fm 
told, and hers too ; had to cross the Channel 
after her death, and was living at Baden or 
Hombourg the last time I heard of him. They 
were both of the Shropshire family. Which 
did you mean ? ” 

“Weil, that I can’t tell yet. Are they all 
you know of ? ” asked Sir Robert, with a sudden 
pang of regret, at the idea of the fate of his little 
friend being in any way connected with that of 
the bold, bad man whom he remembered. 

“No; I know of some Ferrars in Wilts, and 
there is my neighbor, and I wish I could say 
friend — the Earl of Lindisfarne, his family name 


WILFRED. 


43 


is Ferrars. He’s a fine old gentleman, and I 
have really a regard for him, but he shuts him- 
self up at the Towers, and we seldom see him 
even at church, for he goes to the little Dis- 
senting chapel down in Alvey Hollow, because 
Denbigh has a choral service, and we’ve restored 
St. Mary’s and made it as it was in the good 
old times. I understand he thinks we are all 
on the high-road to Rome.” 

Has he any children ? ” 

No, he lives alone with his cousin, young 
Neville, a fine fellow, just back from Oxford. 
He comes very often to see us, and as he will 
be the heir, it is a pleasure to see him, so en- 
tirely what he ought to be.” 

Well, did the Earl never have any chil- 
dren ? ” asked Sir Robert. 

‘Wes, he had two sons. The eldest. Lord 
Ferrars, was a strange, eccentric man, who be- 
came a bigoted Romanist while at Oxford. He 
fell out with his father, and everybody else, and 
lived in Italy, first in one monastery, then in 
another, for many years before his death. I 
have heard the Earl never allowed his name to 
be mentioned before him. His second son was 
much younger, and was a fine fellow, but a trifle 
wild, and he married against his father’s wishes, 
and died without heirs, about six months before 
Lord Ferrars. All that happened while the family 
lived at their place in Lincolnshire, so that I 


44 


WILFRED. 


know very little about it, beyond rumor. They 
say he has never ceased to mourn for his son, 
who came to his death in some way through 
his harshness, but really I can’t say how it was. 
Neville’s father is something of a scapegrace, 
and I fancy the young fellow is very grateful to 
his kinsman for adopting him in his lifetime, 
and letting him feel at home at the Towers. It 
is quite impossible that Reginald should care 
for his father, for he is a low, designing fellow, 
something of a blackleg, in fact, although he 
comes of a good family. He has evidently 
played his cards well, however, for his son will 
certainly be heir of Lindisfarne some day. He 
comes down occasionally, and spends his time 
playing chess with the old gentleman and try- 
ing to make himself agreeable generally, but I 
never liked him. How he ever happened to 
have such a son as Reginald, I can’t tell, but I 
believe his wife was a very lovely woman (one 
of the Thorpes, you know, connections of the 
Stanhope-Grays), and I suppose the boy gets 
his fine traits from her. But why were you 
asking? ” 

Well, to tell you the truth, I have a little 
protegi^ by the name of Ferrars, who is evi- 


WILFRED. 


45 


dently the son of a gentleman ; but he knows 
very little about it himself, poor child, and has 
not yet reached an age to feel any anxiety on 
the subject. His whole soul is at present en- 
grossed in the idea of being a chorister.” 

^‘The very thing,” cried Mr. Lauriston, 
starting up. I promised Denbigh, if possible, 
to make inquiries about finding a well-trained 
voice for our choir. Joe Blake is getting rather 
too old ; his voice sets one's teeth on edge some- 
times, but I must say we do have first-rate 
music now. Having choristers has been a great 
thing for the parish ; it gives the little chaps an 
interest in the service and induces their families 
to come too, and then they feel a responsibility 
in being well-behaved, sitting there before all 
the congregation. Where is your boy to be 
found ? ril go and see about him to-morrow, 
the first thing.” 

Oh, not so fast, my dear fellow,” replied Sir 
Robert, laughing. My boy is not a trained 
chorister yet. I question if he knows a single 
note, but he has a lovely voice, and sings by 
ear.” 

“Well, why couldn’t we have him then, and 
let Denbigh train himself, as he did Geoffrey ? ” 


46 


WILFRED. 


‘‘Why, you see, I don't know whether it 
would be practicable yet. The person who has 
him in charge, might object to his leaving Lon- 
don, and he might not be willing to go. I shall 
have to think it over myself, and talk^it over 
with them, and if we decide to accept the prop- 
osition I will let you know." And so the con- 
versation ended. Sir Robert not quite liking to 
confide Wilfred's story to one who, in the full- 
ness of his large heart, would confide it to my 
lady, who would probably tell it to her daugh- 
ters, and they in time might mention it before 
the maids, and so do harm. But after he had 
seen his friend to his room, he went back to his 
sanctum, and taking down a large red volume, 
he turned to “ Ferrars," and read down the col- 
umns till he came to “ Edward Waldegrave — 
Castlemaine Ferrars, ninth Earl of Lindisfarne, 
married to Elizabeth Montgomery Cavendish, 
etc." “Charles Ernest Edward, Viscount Fer- 
rars, died at Florence, Italy, unmarried, Septem- 
ber 1st, 1864. Then “ Hon. Wilfred Cavendish 
Ferrars, Captain of the Seventh Regiment of 

Royal Fusiieers, married ; died at Agra, 

April 1 6th, 1864. His wife and an infant son 
survived him but a few weeks." 

“Wilfred Cavendish Ferrars," that was the 
name in the official dispatch. Then either he 


WILFRED, 


47 


was on the wrong track, or some strange mis- 
take had been made, with regard to the fate of 
the child. Yet what Mr. Lauriston had said of 
the alleged harshness of the old Earl, agreed 
with the poor little boy's account, of the scene 
between his parents, which had made so deep 
an impression on his young mind, and also with 
his story of his father's death in India. Clearly, 
Wilfred must be the grandson of the Earl of 
Lindisfarne, but how could such a mistake have 
arisen ? Surely some one must have known bet- 
ter ! Some one must have known the boy was 
not dead, and would some day come to refute 
the falsehood given to the world, and claim his 
own ! 

Sir Robert went slowly over all the Ferrars in 
the Peerage and Landed Gentry, but rose from 
his seat as the clock struck two, convinced that 
his conclusion was correct, and went to sleep 
with his mind filled with plans for the resti- 
tution of his little protegi. That night, he 
dreamed he was walking on the sea-shore with 
Wilfred by the hand, when a great wave swept 
him out to sea, and while he stood paralyzed 
with horror, a gaunt figure, with flowing beard, 


48 


WILFRED. 


approached, upbraided him with having let his 
grandson perish, and vanished with an unearthly- 
groan. 

Too many truffles for dinner,'’ muttered Sir 
Robert impatiently to himself, as he rose tc 
shut out the moonlight flooding the room. 


CHAPTER VI. 


** TJUT what does it mean, Wilfred, I can’t 
understand,” and Winnie wrinkled her 
little patient brow over a piece of music. 

‘‘Well, you see, Winnie, every round dot 
means a sound, and they call them notes, and 
each one has a name. Now, this one they call 
Sol, and this Fa, and that Re, and the keys of 
the organ have the same names. I don’t know 
how to give you a better explication^' in a per- 
plexed voice, seeing that Winnie failed to com- 
prehend ; “ but you will see that when I learn 
them well, I can sing for you any new chanson. 
Will it not be nice ? ” 

“Yes, very nice,” and the little brow cleared, 
and she listened patiently, v/hile Wilfred went 
over and over the scales, learned that day at 
his first lesson, but he stopped when she seemed 
to grow weary, to sing her the air of a street- 
ballad he had heard that afternoon on his way 
home. 

Then Wilfred had to go over the history of 
4 (49) 


50 


WILFRED, 


the day again, and nothing loth, tell how he 
had gone with Sir Robert to the choir-master 
of the Abbey, and had sung for him the Bene- 
dictus, and how he had patted him on the head 
and said he would soon have him singing like 
a nightingale/' 

Then Sir Robert had left him, and the master 
had given him a lesson about the lines and 
dots, and he was to go, next day again, and soon 
have a real piece of music ; and Sir Robert had 
asked the master to have him a surplice made, 
as soon as he could go into the choir. Ma 
mie " had promised the first time he wore it, 
to send for a cab and take Winnie to .the Ab- 
bey ; and they would go in by the poets' corner 
where she could get a nice quiet place behind 
the screen. 

Only to think of that, cherie ! " he ended 
enthusiastically, lavishing on her the loved epi- 
thet, seldom used, by which his dead mother 
used to call him. 

Yes, it would be beautiful to go, but would 
the people stare very much or jostle her ? " 

Wilfred was sure not, and went on to tell her 
of the grand arches, and the cloisters, and mon- 
uments, and above all of the music, and dwelt 


WILFRED. 


51 


SO much on them all, that Winnie forgot her 
fears and shrinking, for the time, and entered 
into all his joyous anticipations. True, it was 
all an oft-told tale to her, but what of that, 
when she liked it best of all, and her fears of 
the crowd once removed, the promised treat 
would give her something to dream of by day 
and by night, till the time came. 

Down-stairs, nurse Brinton (or mere Babette, 
as Wilfred called her) was spending the evening 
with her sister, and was listening to a long and 
minute account of Sir Robert's visit, and all he 
had said and done. Sir Robert had carefully 
broached the subject of Wilfred's going to the 
country at some future time, in order to find 
out how Mrs. Green would regard a separation 
from her charge, but ma mie " had vehe- 
mently objected, and she was therefore not a 
little surprised, to find for once, that her sister 
viewed the matter in a different light. 

You see, Fanny, it's time now he was going 
to school, for although he reads and writes as 
well as many a man, he ought to begin to learn 
regular, and if he could pick up some arith- 
metic and Latin from the clergyman who wants 
him, it would do him more good than all the 


52 


WILFRED, 


singing in the world. Besides, he*s looking 
paler and delicater than ever, and if he could 
be where he’d get pure air and plenty of fresh 
milk, it would be the best thing to save hir® 
from going in a decline, like his poor, pretty, 
young mother.” 

This was putting it in a new light, and the 
bare idea that the time had come, when she 
must resign her darling, made poor Mrs. 
Green’s heart fail. 

But Barbara’s opinion was law with her, and 
if she thought so, go he must. And was he 
really paler and thinner than usual? Then it 
must be looking at Winnie that had made her 
think him healthy and strong; and Winnie! 
Ah 1 What would become of Winnie without 
Wilfred? Wilfred, who sang to her, amused 
her, coaxed her, and loved her so dearly ! and 
poor ma mie' s ” tears flowed fast. 

'' Well, but, Barbara, suppose they’re not 
good to him, and he isn’t happy? And you 
know the night air and dews in the country will 
be very bad for him,” said Mrs. Green, trying 
to remember the features in rural life which are 
considered most objectionable. 

‘^That maybe, Fanny, but the Lord raised 


WILFRED. 


S3 


US up to befriend him, when he was a deal more 
helpless than he is now, and it aint likely He’ll 
desert him. I don't doubt He’ll give him new 
friends, and take care of him, and as for his 
health, he must learn to be careful and stay in 
at night, but there’s nothing better for a weak 
chest, as you know, than new milk and the 
breath of cows. Don't you remember long ago, 
when the Court doctor ordered my lady to go 
down to the barn-yard every morning, when the 
cows were milked, to drink a glass with the foam 
on it ? " 

Dear me, yes, I had forgotten that. But 
perhaps there won't be any cows at the Rectory, 
and there is no lady of the house, to look after 
him, for Sir Robert told me so. The clergyman 
just lives by himself," said Mrs. Green uncon- 
vinced. 

Well, we'll, see how it is ; but if the gentle- 
man is disposed to do a kind part by Wilfred 
and we can get him into a clergyman’s family, 
my judgment is to do it. Something happened 
soon after he came to us that decides me it will 
be best," and nurse Brinton shook her head 
mysteriously. 

“ What was it ? " inquired her sister. 


54 


WILFRED. 


“ I hadn't intended to mention it ever, for it 
worried me, and I knew it would fret you too, 
and as long as there was no way out of it, it 
wasn’t worth while. But now that a way seems 
opened for Wilfred, it would be folly to refuse,” 
said nurse Brinton. 

Well, but what was it that happened ? ” asked 
Mrs. Green, breathless with excitement, for it 
was not Barbara’s way to keep things back from 
her, and it must have been something very un- 
common to have such an effect on her. Do, 
Barbara, make haste and tell me.” 

It was just this. I was putting bandages 
on a poor fellow’s arm, that I told you of at 
the time, when nurse Jenks came up, and says 
she, ‘ I’ll take your place, nurse Brinton, for 
you’re wanted below to speak to a stranger.’ 
But that wasn’t how I do, so I finished the 
bandages myself, and made them all comfort- 
able, and then went down, not over-pleased, for 
I had other patients waiting to be attended to, 
and no time to waste. It was a stranger, a 
short, stout man, not exactly ugly, but with 
an evil eye, and says I to myself, at the first 
glance, ‘You don’t get much out of me, my 
man, for I wouldn’t trust you round the corner. 


WILFRED. 


55 


Bat for all that, he was very civil-spoken, and 
looked well born. 

‘ Are you nurse Brinton ? ' says he. 

^ The same, sir,' says 1. 

Well, the doctor here tells me you attended 
a friend of mine in her last illness — Mrs. Fer- 
rars, who died a few months ago — and that you 
took charge of her little son. Can you tell 
me where I can see him ? ' 

“‘You’ll not be likely to see him/ says I, 
^ for of course I couldn’t keep him here in a 
hospital, so I got him adopted,’ says I, speak- 
ing up sharp. 

“ ‘ And where is he now ? ’ says he. 

“ ' That I can’t say, sir,’ says I ; ‘ it’s a lady 
from Westmoreland that took him, and treats 
him like her own son, I believe ; but, by your 
leave, I can’t wait any longer, for I’m on duty.’ 

‘ But can’t you tell me the lady’s name ? ’ 
says he, growing impatient-like. 

“ ‘ No, sir,’ says I, ‘ I can’t. It begun with a 
“ G,” and that’s all I can tell about it. Orphans 
is no scarcity here, and all we can do is to treat 
’em well, and be glad when some one comes 
along as can take ’em off our hands.’ 

“ He took up his hat then to go, and looked 


56 


WILFRED. 


very down about it, but I knew I d taken him 
in, and I hope the Lord will forgive me the lie, 
but I wasn’t going to give up an innocent lamb 
to such as he. When he got to the door, he 
came back and said : 

‘ Mrs. Brinton, if you can hear anything of 
little Ferrars, will you send me a line through 
the post, and Fll be greatly obliged?’ And 
he slipped a guinea into my hand with his card. 
But I wouldn’t take his money, and he laid it 
on the table and went. So I put it by for Wil- 
fred one of these days, and here’s the card. I 
brought it round, thinking I would tell you all 
about it. 

‘“'Captain Charles James Neville, 54 Cock- 
spur Street,’ was the name. 

“ Now, I should like to see Sir Robert my- 
self,” went on nurse Brinton, “ and then I could 
form my own opinion, and if I found him as 
you think, I would ask his advice, and show 
him that card.” 

“ WelV’ said Mrs. Green, amazed at the story, 
and overcome with admiration of Barbara’s su- 
perior wisdom ; “he said he’d drop in to-mor- 
row about six o’clock to hear how Wilfred got 
on with his singing.” And so it was agreed that 


WILFRED. 


57 


Mrs. Brinton should apply for leave of absence 
at that hour the next day. 

Wilfred, little dreaming of the discussion con- 
cerning him going on below, continued to en- 
tertain Winnie, and was deep in the history of 
happy days with “ maman so long ago, and of 
the pebbles and shells he used to find on the 
shore when the tide went out, when “ ma mie 
called him down to take Winnie her bowl of 
porridge and milk, and he begged permission to 
take his too, so they could eat it together. 

It had been the very happiest day of all his 
life, since maman died, and Winnie thought 
so too, and when ma mie came to hear them 
their prayers, in his childish fashion — for he 
was very childish in some things — he returned 
thanks for each pleasure in turn, ending, as al- 
ways, with his little prayer in French, to la 
Saint e Vih'ge!' 

^'Ma mie had grown accustomed to all his lit- 
tle foreign habits and expressions, and no longer 
opposed him in this, seeing he prayed after all 
as his own mother had taught him. His En- 
glish prayers, at least, were orthodox, and very 
earnest and sincere they were. 

Ma chlre amie ” he said to her to-night. 


58 


WILFRED. 


throwing his arms round her, in his impulsive 
way, will you let me kiss inon p^re this 
night ? ” 

And ma mie went to her strong box and 
gave him the miniature. 

God bless my bonny boy,'' she whispered 
to herself, as she looked back at the fair head 
nestling on the pillow, and then, seeing Winnie 
already asleep in the next room, went down to 
Barbara. 


CHAPTER VII. 



UNCHEON had been over an hour, at 


-Ly Lauriston Hall, and comparative still- 
ness reigned in the sitting-room, where Lady 
Margaret sat alone in the low window, which 
opened on the lawn. A Greville rose draped 
the window outside, and the soft summer breeze, 
swaying its clustering flowers, wafted their fra- 
grance into the room. My lady,’’ as her hus- 
band called her, half in sport and half in love, 
was busied in her quiet way with fashioning a 
dainty little garment of muslin and lace, for 
baby ; but her thoughts were not altogether of 
her work, for now and again, she would pause, 
and look toward the far-off hills, with a thought- 
ful, and rather serious expression on her sweet 
face. This was the only time in the day when 
her manifold cares left her entirely at leisure, 
and the children called it “ mamma’s thinking 
time.” 

Out on the lawn, she could catch occasional 
glimpses of nurse’s white cap, as she walked to 


( 59 ) 


6o 


WILFRED. 


and fro in the shade of the limes, giving baby 
her airing in the basket-carriage, with its rose- 
colored ribbons, and striped parasol. From the 
nurseries comes the distant sound of the chil- 
dren’s voices ; bursts of laughter, and once, in- 
dignant cries from the twins — chubby little girls 
of six— captured by one of the maids, indulging 
in the forbidden pleasure of swinging on the 
nursery gate. 

But my lady’s ” thoughts were not wdth the 
children, at least not with that portion of the 
family, whose brown holland was being ex- 
changed for white pique, and whose unruly 
locks were being reduced to order, before going 
to the station to meet papa and brother.” 
She was thinking of her two daughters who 
had just cantered out of sight, followed by the 
groom only ; but she knew they would return 
accompanied by Reginald Neville, who rarely 
failed to meet them, and ride back, at least as 
far as the Lodge. 

To be sure Maude was but fifteen, and too 
closely resembled her boon-companion, Geoffrey, 
to be suspected of any feeling akin to sentiment, 
but with Madeline it was different. She was al- 
i*eady a woman in thought and feeling, and in 


WILFRED. 


6l 


her ingenuousness, never scrupled to confess to 
mamma ” how Reginald’s presence added to 
all their pleasures. As for Reginald himself, his 
love was patent to all eyes. No day was com- 
plete to him, if part of it was not spent with 
Madeline. Sometimes he came to dinner, when 
there was no company, and he was sure of 
seeing her ; sometimes to luncheon ; or he over- 
took the sisters in their daily ride or walk. 
Sometimes it was only a glimpse, but he treas- 
ured up the smile and nod, till they met again. 

He went Maying with them, or nutting, or 
hay-making, on which occasions they were gen- 
erally reinforced by the entire nursery party, 
with whom he was extremely popular. Not 
even papa could ‘‘wide them pick-a-back like 
Wegie, for he knew how to wun like a weal 
horse,” said little Nancy. “Just like a weal 
horse,” chimed in little Alice, the other twin, 
who never failed to echo her sister’s remarks. 
The mother looked on and saw it all, and 
scarcely knew what course to pursue, for the 
young man was a favorite with every one, and 
she felt a special interest in him, from having 
known his mother, and something of the trials 
of his early life. For his had been a checquered 


62 


WILFRED. 


existence, until circumstances had placed him 
under the care of the Earl of Lindisfarne, his 
mother’s cousin. 

His father was in the army, a plausible, un- 
principled man, spending most of his leisure at 
cards, and the boy’s childhood had been spent 
in barracks, where ' his mother’s influence, and 
prayers, alone saved him from contamination. 
Lord Lindisfarne, hearing at last of her failing 
health, wrote and asked her to bring her son, 
and make him a visit at Lindisfarne Castle, 
which invitation was gratefully accepted. 
Pleased with the noble bearing and frank, en- 
gaging manner of his young kinsman, and dis- 
covering, moreover, that the thought of his 
future, spent under his father’s influence, was 
the very bitterness of death to his mother, he 
assumed his education and sent him to Rugby. 
His father made no objection to the plan ; on 
the contrary, he considered it a rare stroke of 
luck, and was even more considerate of his poor 
wife in consequence, during the few remaining 
months of her life. Reginald spent all his holi- 
days at Lindisfarne, and quite a friendship grew 
up between the school-boy, and the Earl’s son, 
a gay young officer in the Guards, who always 


WILFRED. 


63 


brought a general atmosphere of cheerfulness 
and pleasure, with him, during his brief visits 
home. 

But the time came, when visits from Caven- 
dish grew fewer, and farther between, and, boy 
as he was, Reginald was conscious that there 
was something wrong. Worse still, he had a 
i^ague impression that his own father had made 
mischief between the Earl and his son, for he 
had come to Lindisfarne unexpectedly, for 
the ostensible reason of seeing Reginald, but 
had contrived to gain more of his host’s atten- 
tion than he usually enjoyed, and, Reginald 
fancied, had told him something against Caven- 
dish, for he heard them talking that evening of 
mortgages and money-lenders, and the Earl had 
been in a violent passion, and dispatched a let- 
ter to Cavendish before breakfast next morning. 
Shortly after, his cousin had gone on the con- 
tinent, without his usual visit home, and Reg- 
inald knew it was his father, who not long after 
brought the news of his marriage to a young 
French girl — a Roman Catholic. 

The Earl was furious ; his son’s debts he 
could have overlooked ; his daughter-in-law’s 
nationality, he might in time have forgiven, but 


64 


WILFRED. 


her creed — never ! Rome was his pet aversion, 
his mortal horror, the embodiment of all that is 
dreadful. Had she not robbed him of his first- 
born, that son whose name for fifteen years had 
never passed his lips? And now to have his 
younger and favorite child follow in his foot- 
steps and marry one of her daughters, he con- 
sidered as a personal insult, an unpardonable 
transgression! He sent for the family solicitor the 
next day, and added a codicil to his will, canceling 
his son’s rights as far as lay in his power, and 
forbade the mention of his name in his presence. 

Captain Neville looked on with well-disguised 
pleasure, even feigning to advocate the young 
man’s cause ; but, to his son, in the exuberance 
of his satisfaction, he lifted the mask of hypoc- 
risy, and ordered him, before his departure, to in- 
gratiate himself in his relative’s favor, so that 
he might step into his cousin’s place. 

With a feeling akin to horror, the boy heard 
him, comprehending it all then, and his whole 
soul recoiled in loathing. But remonstrances 
were sternly silenced by his father ; and, scarcely 
daring to disobey him, and run the chance of 
alienating his benefactor and only friend, by 
pleading a cause only half understood, he nev- 
ertheless ventured to allude to little incidents 
in which Cavendish had pleased his father; lav- 
ished still greater care on the beautiful pointer 
his cousin had left in his charge, and tried, by 


WILFRED. 


6S 


numerous little unobtrusive acts, to keep him in 
the Earl’s thoughts. However, unnoticed at 
the time, the recollection of his conduct served 
greatly to endear him afterward, to Lord Lindis- 
fame. 

Still, the boy felt himself almost an impostor, 
— ‘^a thief waiting to steal another’s birth- 
right,” he told himself again and again — and 
went to sleep, with his pillow wet with burning 
tears of mortification and shame. His only 
comfort during those miserable holidays was to 
go into the housekeeper’s room, and talk to her 
of his cousin, and of the chances of his being 
forgiven, by and by. 

But Mrs. Stratton was very despondent. 

Master was a good man, and had a kind 
heart, but was hard to forgive ; and somehow, 
without seeming to mean it, Mr. Cavendish was 
always vexing his father. She was grieved to 
say it, but he had not always done as he ought ; 
and now to have gone off and married a forrin’ 
lady — leastways, she hoped she was a lady — 
and she a papist, was hard on master, and she 
doubted he would ever give in.” 

And then the old lady, who loved him like 
her own child, but was equally lo}^al to mas- 
5 


66 


WILFRED. 


ter/' would go on with some stcry of Caven- 
dish when a boy, and tell how often she had 
had to shield him from his father's displeasure 
at his boyish pranks, or help him out of scrapes, 
into which he had been led by sheer thought- 
lessness, and love of fun. Sometimes, with tears 
in her eyes, she would laugh heartily over again 
at the recollection of his escapades. 

And so the time came for Reginald to return 
to school, and he went, bearing with him the 
burden that weighs so heavily on young hearts 
when first they learn how full of evil is this 
world in which we live. His father's words had 
seemed to open at his feet, an abyss of wicked- 
ness, and ingratitude, and all that was most ab- 
horrent to his nature, and he felt utterly forlorn 
and wretched. Fortunately the busy routine 
of school-life, left him little time to dwell on his 
troubles ; but the following summer, on hearing 
of the birth of his cousin's little son, from wor- 
thy Mrs. Stratton, he went boldly to Lord Lin- 
disfarne, and besought him to relent, and send 
for Cavendish to come home. But the Earl 
haughtily reproved him for his interference, 
and then, as if to atone for his harshness, 
the next day, presented him with a beauti- 


WILFRED. 


ful chestnut— the pride of the Lindisfaine 
stables. 

Some six years passed away, without any spe- 
cial events to mark their flight, and Reginald, 
having taken high honors at Rugby, was at Ox- 
ford, when he saw his cousin's death in the pa- 
pers, and, immediately after, a letter bordered 
with black came to him from Mrs. Stratton. It 
began, Honored Sir," and told of Cavendish’s 
death in formal, concise phrases, and then the 
good woman’s mingled affection and grief had 
their way, and she poured out her pent-up sor- 
row for her boy ’’ and master ’’ with a touch- 
ing sincerity that went to Reginald’s heart. 

Master has shut himself up in his own 
rooms ever since the news came," she wrote, 
and neither eats nor sleeps ; and I can hear 
him walking the floor and moaning to himself 
overhead, till I can scarce stay in my bed at 
night. He sent for Mr. Canning this morning 
to tell him to send for my poor boy’s wife and 
child, to come home to him, for which I thank 
the Lord, but neither master nor Mr. Canning 
know where to find them. Indeed, Mr. Regi- 
nald dear, it would make your heart ache to 
look at master. He has aged ten years in these 


68 


WILFRED, 


few days, and I only wish you were here. I 
made bold to ask him if I should send for you, 
but he shook his head. Your father came down 
from London as soon as the news came and 
stayed two days, but master did not see him. 
He scarcely ever speaks, but he seems quite 
changed-like, and as gentle as a child, and to- 
day he said to me, ‘ When my son^s wife and 
my grandson come home to me, Stratton, I 
think we'll go to the Towers for a while; 
they might find it dull here,' and then he 
walked away. But I know how it is with him, 
Mr. Reginald. It's because everything here 
reminds him of him that's gone, and of how he 
needn't ever have gone at all, if master had only 
given in, the time the regiment was ordered to 
India. If he'd only have forgiven my poor boy, 
when he wrote, and begged him to care for his 
wife, and child, while he was away, instead of 
writing him that hard letter. Your father was 
here, and I heard them talking about it ; and 
indeed, Mr. Reginald, it was a hard letter, for I 
heard master reading it over to himself, when I 
was sorting the library curtains for Jenkyns. 
He told him to take care of his own, for he'd 
never see any of them ; and I could have gone 


WILFRED. 


69 


down on my knees, to have prayed him not to 
cast off his own child, but it would have been 
no use. Master was always hard to forgive. 
Jenkyns sends his humble duty; and, hoping 
you will forgive me the liberty IVe taken, in 
sending you this long letter, which I won’t deny 
it has been a comfort to me to write, 

‘‘Your most respectful servant, 

“Martha Stratton."' 

Meanwhile, came news of Lord Ferrar’s death, 
but despite their efforts, neither Lord Lindis- 
farne nor Mr. Lanning were able to learn any- 
thing of the whereabouts of the widow and 
child of the Hon. Wilfred Cavendish Ferrars. 
They traced them indeed to Margate, and Mr. 
Lanning, after going from one lodging-house to 
another, succeeded in finding Mrs. Tibbs, and 
learning all the particulars of the circumstances 
of her boarders, up to the time of Capt. Ferrars" 
death, some weeks before, and that Mrs. Ferrars 
and her little boy had gone to live in France. 

“Bullong? Yes, she thought that was the 
place the lady said she was going to, but she 
never could understand her very well. She had 
paid all she owed, and went away with her little 
boy, who was wonderful clever for his age, and 


70 


WILFRED. 


the living image of his papa. Of course, she 
couldn't afford to keep folks as couldn’t pay, 
but she was real sorry to part with them.” 

Did she know if Mrs. Ferrars drew a pen- 
sion?” 

She didn’t know. She was very ill after her 
husband’s death, and as soon as she was able, 
they went away.” 

Mrs. Tibbs could give no further information, 
and Mr. Tanning having gleaned only the fact 
of their having gone to Boulogne, took his leave. 

Too restless to remain at home, the Earl met 
him in London, and the next day saw him off 
by the tidal train. But after a week’s absence, 
having vainly racked his brain to discover some 
new method of finding the objects of his quest, 
he returned to report his want of success. Full 
of remorse and the bitterness of disappointment, 
the old man removed his household from Lin- 
disfarne to his estate in Devon, where, too much 
absorbed in his grief to respond to the kindly 
advances of his new neighbors, he shut himself 
up with his books, declining all society. Occa- 
sionally the old stubborn spirit would show itself 
in discussions with Reginald, or some chance 
companion, of questions of Church or State, 


71 


Wilfred. 


but to those accustomed to him in former days, 
the change which sorrow had wrought in the 
proud, overbearing nature, which could not 
brook opposition, was great indeed. There was 
about him now, a gentleness and consideration 
for others, which was very touching, and seem- 
ing to be conscious 'that the Towers made a 
dull home for a young man, he encouraged Regi- 
nald’s growing intimacy, with the families of the 
neighborhood. 

Months passed, and no tidings came of the 
missing links in the family chain ; but as hope 
faded, the old Earl grew more restless, and per- 
sistent, in his passionate appeals to Mr. Lanning 
to continue his search. Advertisements were 
put in the Times, in Galtgnani, and in leading 
French journals, but, as we know, were never 
read by the tear-dimmed eyes, for which they 
were meant, and as time went on, Reginald came 
to be considered, if not by the Earl, at least by 
the world, and his own father, as the son of the 
house. But Capt. Neville did more than take 
for granted. Having heard all that Mr. Lanning 
had been able to learn, he also went to Bou- 
logne, but with no better success. 

Deceived by his apparent interest and zeal in 


72 


WILFRED. 


the search, the Earl so far forgave him his influ- 
encc in the past as to receive him as usual ; and 
one evening when che Captain had come down 
for a night. Lord Lindisfarne started up from 
his chair with a sudden exclamation, and ring- 
ing the bell, ordered the footman to send the 
carriage for Mr. Lanning and ask him to come 
at once. But Mr. Lanning was ill, and in his 
impatience the Earl forgot his prudence, and 
confided to the Captain the ide.. which had just 
occurred to him, which was, that as his son’s 
wife was of the Romish faith, she was probably 
known to some of the priests at Boulogne. 

The Captain pronounced the suggestion in- 
genious, but not likely to prove useful; yet 
nevertheless crossed the Channel the next day 
himself, and going to work systematically, by 
dint of inquiry, at length met with pere Joseph. 

“ He had known a Mme. Ferrars and her little 
son, who lived with one of his parishioners. 
She was French, but he had understood her 
husband had been English. She had seemed 
very poor, but was a lady, and far gone in a de- 
cline, when he first knew her, which had not 
been long ; they had left suddenly a few months 
before, and he had been told by old Susette 


WILFRED. 


73 


that they had gone to England. He should 
think she had not lived long, and the child 
looked fragile too, but he knew no more, 
and old Susette was dead.’' 

This was all Capt. Neville had been able to 
learn. 

On the way back he pondered over the best 
course to pursue, and decided that unless they 
had turned up at their old quarters at Margate 
he would tell the Earl of his expedition, and 
that both his daughter-in-law and grandson had 
died in France. The mother, he did not doubt, 
was really dead, or otherwise she would surely 
have made some sign on coming to England, 
and if the mother was dead, it was very unlikely 
that a child of seven or eight years would have 
learned enough ever to claim his rights. If he 
told the truth, his own boy would remain but a 
dependent on his cousin’s bounty, for he knew 
the Earl would never give up the search for his 
young heir; but once convince him, and the 
more wary barrister, that the child was dead, 
and he thought, nay, was sure, that Reginald 
would inherit the fortune and title. 

Therefore, on his return, having hurried to 


74 


WILFRED. 


Margate first, to see if anything further had 
been heard there, of Mrs. Ferrars, he sought the 
man, who had been a father to his child, with 
the pitiless lie on his lips ; saw him turn away, 
with the agonized groan of a speechless despair, 
and knew that he had blighted all his remaining 
years — knew it, and felt only a triumphant 
pleasure at his own cleverness. 

He felt the game was nearly won, but back 
in London, at Waterloo station, he questioned 
all the cabmen on the stand, and with the rare 
— shall we say luck ? —which sometimes at- 
tends the most unworthy, actually found one, 
who remembered to have taken a ‘‘ forrin lady ” 
and a child to the hospital, about the time des- 
ignated. This information it was, which led to 
Captain Neville’s visit to nurse Brinton, the re- 
sult of which, we already know. 

But for her astuteness, the boy might have 
been sent to some distant land, or lost in the 
nearer wilderness of one of the great public 
asylums at home. Again, and again, the un- 
scrupulous man told himself, that the child was 
too young to endanger his darling scheme, but 
the thought of Lord I.indisfarne’s rage, and of 


IVILFRED. 


75 


Reginald turned adrift a beggar in the world, 
should his falsehood ever be discovered, haunted 
tils dreams, and caused him many a sleepless 
night, and in hi? heart he cursed “ the lady 
from Westmoreland, whose name began with a 
G/* Unconscious Fanny Green ! 


CHAPTER VIIL 


ND so Lady Margaret sat alone in hef 



^ ^ quiet, rose-scented room, thinking of 
Reginald’s love for her daughter. She was not 
an ambitious mother, and could have taken him 
to her heart as lovingly without fortune or title 
as with both, but Madeline would have but a 
slender dower — the estate being entailed — and 
their means, though large, would have to be 
divided among many. 

The Lindisfarne estates, on the contrary, 
could be left to whoever the Earl pleased ; and 
should he choose some distant relative as heir, 
or leave his fortune to charities, Reginald would 
be left without even a home. His father’s char- 
acter was not such, as to render it a desirable 
connection for her daughter, although his son 
rarely mentioned him, and she was quite sure 
had not inherited any of his* evil traits. Her 
husband took his usual cheerful, but impractic- 
able, view of the matter, when once or twice, 
she had broached it ; he being one of those 


(76) 


WILFRED. 


77 


genial, kind-hearted beings, who think nothing 
so delightful as a love affair, and have no faith 
whatever in the old adage where love flies out 
at the window/’ In truth, not by the utmost 
stretch of his imagination, could he have asso- 
ciated the idea of poverty, with a member of his 
own family. 

The Lauristons had always been a comfort 
able, easy-going race, possessing a splendid es- 
tate, which had been handed down unimpaired 
from father to son for generations, and the fam- 
ily portraits in the hall, smiled down on their 
present representative, as altogether worthy of 
their good old name. 

Disturbed at length by the entrance of Som- 
ers with afternoon tea. Lady Margaret laid 
aside her work and her revery together, and, 
bidding him ask the children’s governess to 
join her, tied on the straw hat, under whose 
broad brim, her sweet face looked almost a^ 
young as Madeline’s, and strolled down the 
avenue with Miss Browning, to meet her hus- 
band. They had not long to wait before the 
joyous cavalcade came in sight, headed by 
Geoffrey, riding at full speed on his beloved 

Prince,” sent to meet him at the station, and 


78 


WILFRED, 


closely followed by Maude, who had far outrid- 
den the groom — a departure from rules, which 
made Miss Browning shake her head. Then 
came the wagonette, filled with children of all 
sizes, under the care of a long-suffering nursery* 
maid, and then the dog-cart with papa and 
a gentleman, and, cantering beside it, Madeline 
and Reginald, looking fully as pleased to wel 
come Mr. Lauriston back as if already a mem 
ber of the family. 

Geoffrey was, of course, the first to arrive, and 
after almost overwhelming ‘‘ mamma,’' with the 
strength and fervor of his embraces, he sprang 
on his horse again ; and Maude started to run 
races with him to the stable-yard, but was 
promptly called to order, and dismounting re- 
luctantly, stood by her mother’s side, a dainty 
little figure, in her gray habit and plumed hat, 
while her pony was led away. As they drev' 
near. Lady Margaret recognized beside her hus- 
band, their old friend. Sir Robert Elliott, always 
a welcome and honored guest at Lauriston, but 
whom she had not seen for some time. 

Well, mamma, here is our truant turned up 
at last,” called Mr. Lauriston as they drew 
up beside the little group. This is indeed a 


WILFRED, 


79 


pleasure, Sir Robert ; we had almost begun to 
despair of seeing you at Lauriston,’' and her 
soft eyes beamed with welcome. Then turning 
to her husband she placed her hand on his arm, 
and calling to Reginald that he must stay and 
dine, the party strolled back toward the house, 
under the lengthening shadows of the limes. 
On the terrace, they were met by the whole 
nursery brigade, who had remained quiescent in 
the wagonette, till it came to a halt at the farm- 
gate — the limit of their ride — and who now 
returned to give papa ’’ a second welcome. 
The twins at once made friends with Sir Robert, 
and each took possession of a hand, until, catch- 
ing sight of Reginald and Madeline, a little be- 
hind, with Miss Browning, they instantly de- 
serted, and narrowly escaped being trampled in 
their vehement efforts to be taken up for a ride. 
But Miss Browning declaring herself lonely, by 
way of effecting a diversion, so touched their 
hearts, that they walked quietly beside her to 
the hall door. The sight of Somers, however, 
removing sundry parcels from the dog-cart, was 
too much for them, and they rushed on papa 
with clamorous inquiries as to what he had 
brought them. Little Edith had been half in- 


8o 


WILFRED. 


dined to cry, on finding herself in Sir Robert’s 
arms, but peeping out under her curls, at the 
kind, pleasant face, she slipped one little arm 
round his neck confidingly, and looked on at 
the general hubbub, with a satisfied expression 
in her great blue eyes, which. Lady Margaret 
observed, was a great compliment, she being 
the timid one of the flock. 

Where is our new dollies, papa ? ” cried 
Nancy. 

‘‘Our dear new dollies, papa?” echoed Alice. 

“ And my wocking-horse ? ” shouted Lena, 
who, like her juniors, had not yet mavStered her 
r’s. 

“ Have you got my new paint box, papa?” 
chimed in Susie, “and Rosalie’s guitar? for 
she’s learnt a new song to sing for you.’ 

“ Now, Susie,” remonstrated Rosalie, mindful 
of the presence of a stranger, but Maude broke 
in with her — 

“ Surely, papa, you haven’t forgotten the 
lawn-tennis, and our new bows and arrows, for 
Regie wants to give us some training and we re 
going to have the archery cneeting next week ; 
and Madeline will make our side lose, if she 
doesn’t practice ; Regie says so.” 


WILFRED. 


8l 


“Patience! patience!” called their father; 
“ don't you pity me, Bob, a prey to eight un- 
reasonable damsels?” 

“ Not in the least,” laughed back his friend, 
but a shadow came over his face for an instant, 

“ I suppose Lena here, expected to see me 
riding up the avenue, on her rocking-horse ; ” 
a suggestion hugely enjoyed by the twins, and 
no less by Lena herself, although she was a lit- 
tle disappointed to hear that her new posses- 
sion could not be fetched from the station till 
morning. The bow-and-arrows, and lawn-tennis, 
must also be waited for, but the rest of the 
commissions, had been executed in a manner 
highly satisfactory to all parties, and the chil- 
dren presently dispersed to their own quarters, 
to display and enjoy their treasures. 

During dinner. Sir Robert observed Reginald 
with the keenest interest. Since nurse Brinton 
had shown him Capt. Neville's card, there no 
longer remained a doubt, as to Wilfred’s iden- 
tity, and he had accepted his friend’s invitation 
to accompany him home, with the intention of 
seeing something of those, with whom circum- 
stances were about to bring him in contact, as 
well as to confide the matter to Mr. Denbigh. 

6 


82 


ALFRED. 


Greatly pleased with Reginald’s whole man- 
ner and conversation, he felt convinced before 
the evening was over, that he, at least, was 
innocent of any part in the double game, 
which he now felt sure, was being played by 
Capt. Neville. 


CHAPTER IX. 


TT will soon be to-morrow, Winnie, and it 
must be fine ; for see how beautiful is the 
sunset,*’ and Wilfred pointed to the crimson 
and gold, of which they could just catch a 
glimpse between the chimney-pots. 

You will go in a hansom, ‘ ma mie * says, be- 
cause of the roughness of the ‘ four-wheeler,’ and 
mere Babette will come, if she can leave her paiL- 
vres maladesy The little pinched face on the 
pillow, reflected some of the radiance of his, as 
Winnie gazed out at the evening sky. 

If only she didn’t feel so very tired, it would 
be so beautiful to go ; but somehow she fancied 
it made her more tired only to think of it all. 
If only she had been, and was safely back in her 
-little cot ! But she dreaded the drive in the 
cab, and the crowd, and being carried. Perhaps 
it was only because she had not been well in 
the morning, for she had had one of her fre- 
quent fainting fits, and it had lasted so long, that 


(83) 


84 


WILFRED. 


mammy had sent for the doctor. She thought 
she might feel better to-morrow, but somehow 
this evening she was so tired, that it was an 
effort even to listen to Wilfred’s joyous antici- 
pations. So thought the child, and seeing her 
eyes close wearily, Wilfred drew up his chair 
beside her, and holding one little limp hand, 
began to sing to her. 

‘^No, not that,” as he commenced a ballad; 

here’s my little book ; sing ‘ I need Thee, pre- 
cious Jesu.’” Then as the last sweet notes died 
away, ‘^Now sing ‘Art thou weary.’” 

She lay so still with her eyes closed, that Wil- 
fred thought she was asleep, and fearing to dis- 
turb her, sat silently watching the rose-color 
fading out of the sky. 

“ Wilfed,” said the feeble voice, more tremu- 
lous than usual, “what does involved mean?” 

“ Involved ? I can not tell ; it is one word I 
have not learnt. ‘ Ma mie ’ would tell it me, if 
you will let me go and ask,” starting up. 

“Oh, no! You musn’t ask mammy, for it 
made her cry.” 

“ I do not understand, Winnie. Was it some- 
thing that could hurt ? Who told you of it?” 

“ Well, you know, Wilfred, I was ill to-day. 


WILFRED. 


S5 


and when I waked up again, the doctor was sit- 
ting in your chair, talking to mammy, and I 
couldn’t understand very well ; but as he was 
going, she asked him something, and he said, 
‘ 1 can’t do any more, her heart is now involved,* 
and then poor mammy hid her face in her apron 
and cried, and I think it must mean that I’m 
going to die.” 

Going to die, Winnie!” in an awed whisper, 
then covering the little hand with kisses. Is 
it that you feel so ill, cherief Will I not call 
‘ ma mie' to give you the liqueur which makes 
you always better?” 

‘^No, it won’t do any good now, Wilfred. 
Nothing will rest me any more till I go to 
heaven. I never told you before, because I 
thought you might not like to hear it, but one 
night when mammy gave me something to 
make me sleep, I had a dream. I thought I 
was in heaven, and it was all like the park, only 
more beautiful, with a light like gold, on every- 
thing, and there were angels in white shining 
dresses, floating through the air, and one of them 
came to me where I was resting under a tree 


86 


tVILFRED. 


and said : ‘ Come here, my child, Tm Wilfred’s 
mamma, and Til take care of you, as your moth- 
er takes care of him,’ and she lifted me so gently 
that it didn’t hurt one bit, and went up, and up, 
to where it was so grand and bright, I can’t 
even tell you about it. I was frightened a little, 
but then we met some one, and I knew it was 
Jesus, for He took me in His arms, and all the 
pain and tiredness went away. 

There were a great many little children like 
us, there, and they all kissed me, and seemed so 
glad I came ; and I was so happy, and when 
they began to sing like you, I t;ried to sing too, 
but I waked up, and I was so disappointed 
to find it wasn’t true, that I couldn’t help 
crying.” 

‘‘ Oh ! Winnie, why did you not tell it to me 
before?” said Wilfred, half reproachingly, ‘‘and 
I am so content that maman knew you ! ” He 
seemed to forget it was only a dream. 

Winnie went on : 

“You can’t think what it was to feel well, 
just that little while, Wilfred, and now I’m so 
very tired, I don’t think anybody could rest me 
but Jesus, and that’s why I want to go so very 
much.” 


WILFRED. 


87 


“ But, Winnie, I did not think you would die, 
I thought you would live like this alway,’’ and 
Wilfred vainly tried to steady his voice, for he 
had grown so accustomed to her condition that 
he had almost ceased to think of her as ill, and 
her words had suddenly enveloped him in a dark 
cloud of bewilderment and distress ; the one ray 
of light that seemed left to him, was the idea 
that if she went to heaven, manian would 
know her, and take care of her. 

‘‘Live like this always? Oh! Wilfred, that 
would be too dreadful. 

“ Well, not that, but I did not think you 
would leave me all alone! Oh, Winnie, I shall 
be desole! and he burst into tears. Poor child, 
he knew too well what it was to be left. 

“ Don't cry, dear Wilfred, perhaps I won’t go 
just yet, you know, and maybe yowr ^ maman^ 
will beg Jesus to let you come too,” and this 
touched the right chord, and he presently dried 
his tears as he heard ma mie'' coming up. 

She lighted the candle and gave Winnie her 
drops, and then guessing by Wilfred’s tearful 
eyes, something of the truth, she drew up her 
big chair by the cot, and drawing him down be- 
side her, began in her cheery way, to tell them 


88 


WILFRED. 


stories of her childhood away in Westmoreland^ 
till seeing her as usual, Wilfred was cheered, 
and went to bed happier than he had thought 
possible, an hour before. 

Sunday dawned as brightly as Wilfred had 
predicted. Better still, Winnie seemed greatly 
revived, and the journey in the hansom was won- 
derfully comfortable after all, seeing “ mammy 
did not let them close it, and held her all the 
way in her arms. Lost in astonishment and 
awe, the child gazed up at the wondrous arches 
and painted windows, but when the organ pealed 
forth, and the surpliced choristers took their 
places and sang the glorious Trinity hymn, 
‘‘ Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord, God Almighty,’' she 
seemed once more to be dreaming of heaven, 
and held tightly to ^‘mammy’s” hand lest she 
should wake again to disappointment. Wilfred 
stood where she could just see him through the 
mouldings of the screen, and sang with all his 
soul, and his voice rose clear and surpassingly 
sweet. 

As he sang, Winnie, and all the world were 
forgotten. 

He was singing to le bon Dieu — thanking God 


IVILFRED. 


89 


in the way he knew best, for all His benefits. 
Many eyes rested upon him in admiration of 
the beauty of his face and voice, and the Dean 
asked who he was, after service. 

The boy looks like an angel, and sings like 
one too,” he said. 

Mere Babette ” was there, and waited for 
Wilfred till after the sermon, but when the 
service ended, ma mie ” had put her strong 
arms round Winnie, and lifting her gently, car- 
ried her out. Her great wish was accomplished ; 
she had seen the Abbey, had worshiped God in 
His Holy Temple, and they found her lying 
quietly in her little cot, with a smile of welcome 
for them. In the days which followed, Mrs. 
Green scarcely lost sight of the children, having 
gotten Mrs. Hollis to undertake her washing, 
for though very peaceful, and even less suffer- 
ing than usual, Winnie’s life was ebbing fast. 
Wilfred watched by her and sang to her as usual 
through the day, but, at night, when the dread 
certainty that she was going to die came over 
him, he would cry himself to sleep, and mere 
Babette,” coming in late one evening for a mo- 
ment, was shocked at the change in his appear- 
ance. W^hat, after all, so wearing as suspense, 


90 


WILFRED. 


and how often in our despair, do we pray rather 
to know the truth, however dreadful ! 

And so when mamie'^ stood beside him, in 
the earl}' morning, with the sunshine streaming 
into the room, and told him Winnie had gone to 
be an angel, it did not seem so terrible after all, 
and kind mie'' was herself comforted, in try- 
ing to comfort him. Very gently had the child 
passed away, in one of her faints, and when the 
mother found her efforts to revive her in vain, 
and that the little heart was still, she called in 
no assistance, from doctor, or neighbor, but 
dressed her in one of her white frilled gowns, 
and in the little thin hands placed a white rose- 
bud growing in the window, which the children 
had watched from its first appearance. 

And so Wilfred saw her, with a rose on her 
breast, and a smile on her face, and, knowing she 
was at rest, was comforted. 

Her sufferings are over, and it’s best so, 
Fanny dear.” ^ 

‘‘Yes, Barbara, I know it’s best,” she an- 
swered through her tears ; “ but it was my ‘ one 
ewe-lamb,’ you know.” 


CHAPTER X. 


A would advise me to approach 

the Earl through his young kinsman ? ” 

Sir Robert and Mr. Denbigh were walking 
slowly through the Rectory garden — the latter 
stopping now and then to pluck off a dead rose. 
His flowers were almost the only indulgence he 
permitted himself, in his lonely, self-denying 
life. 

‘‘ I think so. Sir Robert. You see, otherwise 
it would be rather working in the dark, and, at 
any rate, it would be well to know all that he 
can tell you. It may possibly be only a re- 
markable coincidence after all, and this boy the 
child of some other family of Ferrars ; so it 
would be a pity to raise the old man’s hopes, 
only to doom him to fresh disappointment.” 

‘‘You don’t think it could be possible that 
young Neville knows of the existence of this 
child ? ” questioned Sir Robert. 

“ I am sure he does not. Reginald Neville is 
incapable of a base, or mean action, not to men 

(91) 


92 


WILFRED, 


tion such a heinous offense as you suggest. I 
know him well, and I pity him from my heart 
when he learns — as he must, if true — that his 
father is implicated in the affair. You must let 
me know if I can assist you in any way. Sir 
Robert, and, if you desire to place your young 
charge in my care until this matter is decided, 
I am ready to receive him at any time. I would 
gladly have such a voice and influence in my 
choir, and it would have been very pleasant to 
me, to have had something young, and bright, 
about this lonely old Rectory of mine,’' said 
the clergyman rather sadly; ‘^so, unless you 
can at once make arrangements to restore the 
child to his own people, you had best let me 
have him for a while.” 

Thanks, Denbigh ; you shall certainly hear 
from me ; and if after all, I prove to be wrong 
in my conclusions, I have almost made up my 
mind to adopt the boy myself. I have no near 
ties except my sister, who has ample means, and 
no children, and, like you, I lead at best but a 
lonely life, and shall be glad of the companion- 
ship of this little fellow, who has interested me 
so deeply. However, I am detaining you all 
this time ; so good-bye till dinner. Lady ]\Iar- 


IVILFRED. 


93 


garet told me to tell you she would take no ex- 
cuse/' and they parted — the one to return to 
his study ; the other to saunter down the shady 
lane, fragrant with sweet-brier, and around by 
the Towers, where he lingered long, gazing 
over the hedge which bordered a portion of the 
park, musing to himself over the strangeness of 
it all, and wondering what would be the result 
of a conversation with Reginald. 

I wish Sir Robert wouldn't keep Regie on 
the terrace all the evening," said Maude, impa- 
tiently. “ He has to help us decide on the 
archery prize to-night, and he's brought some 
new college songs to sing for us, too. I want 
to learn the airs so I can teach you, for I've 
heard papa say it was a great advantage for a 
young fellow to be able to sing a good song 
when he goes to college." 

How you do run on, Maude," said Geoffrey, 
somewhat ungraciously. One would suppose 
I was going to college next term." 

Oh, very well, Geoffrey ! " in an injured tone, 
but you know you told me so yourself, too." 

“ Well, so I did, Maudie ; I apologize, and 
sympathize at the same time, for I thought we 


94 


WILFRED. 


were going to have an out and out musical 
evening, and it’s a tremendous bore having 
Reginald taken ofif in this way; it’s a regular 
swindle,” and in his contrition for having been 
cross, he gave his sister a genuine school-boy 
embrace, accompanied by a sly pull of one of her 
wavy brown locks. 

Come in, and let’s get mamma or Madeline 
to play some of those Bulgarian waltzes.” 

Hwigarian, you mean.” 

‘‘Well, whatever they are; but music I must 
have, or I’ll do something desperate ;” and step- 
ping back into the music-room, from the balcony 
where they had been loitering, their request was 
at once seconded by their father and Mr. Den- 
bigh, and a few moments after found them danc- 
ing with a will to the inspiring strains. 

“ I know Regie is frantic to come in,” panted 
Maude. 

It was one of the pleasantest rooms in the 
beautiful old home, this music-room at Lauris- 
ton Hall, and here the family usually spent their 
evenings in summer. The floor was like a mir- 
ror, and at one end of the room, which was 
slightly raised, stood a grand piano. Lady Mar- 
garet’s harp, a well-filled music-stand, and beside 


WILFRED. 


95 


it Rosalie’s new guitar with its broad blue rib- 
bon. The windows opened on a stone balcony, 
from which a broad flight of steps led down to 
the lawn, which on that side was terraced, and 
commanded a beautiful view of the gardens and 
the green hills beyond. Madeline, having fin- 
ished the waltzes, was singing now, and her fresh 
young voice floated out on the evening air to 
where, on a rustic bench, hidden by a group of 
orange and palm trees in their huge green tubs, 
sat Sir Robert and his young companion. But 
the moon, rising from a bank of silver clouds, 
shone on a pale and haggard face, from which 
every vestige of color had gone, and Reginald 
looked worn, as if by long illness. 

For what did it all amount to ? Only this, that 
he was a beggar ; that his father was a villain, 
and had left his cousin’s child to be an outcast, 
fed by charity, in order to let him hold a position 
to which he had no right. He remembered, 
long ago, how he had recoiled with horror at the 
idea of supplanting his cousin, and his father’s 
angry threats ; went back to the time when he 
had plead for this very child, and been met with 
stern rebuke by the Earl. But oh ! to think 
his father had known it, had made him live this 


96 


WILFRED, 


lie ; had doomed another to years of remorse, 
of which those about him only knew the bitter 
ness, by the whitening, hair and stooping gait 
which made him old beyond his threescore 
years and ten ! He buried his face in his hands 
and wept tears, such as men weep when home 
and friends, fortune and fame, are swept utterly 
away. All his life ruined — the Earl perhaps re- 
fusing to credit his innocence — in the fraud prac- 
ticed upon him ; half the world ready to believe 
he had done this vile thing for his own advan- 
tage ! Fool that he was, to have rested on his 
father’s word — his father, who had deceived him 
all through his life ! 

“Oh, name it not, tho' guilt and shame 
Were on thy name, 

I’d still be true ! ” 

It was Madeline singing a new song he had 
brought her the day before ; and at the sound 
of her voice, a tide of more intense misery swept 
over him He could never hope to win her 
now! He could never ask her to make such a 
sacrifice, even if her father would have consent- 
ed I It was all ended, this dream of happiness ; 
and through him would come to her her first 
sorrow ! 


WILFRED. 


97 


Oh, God ! ’’ he cried in his despair, stretching 
up his arms appealingly. 

“ Don't, my dear fellow, don’t take this so to 
heart,” said Sir Robert, beyond measure dis- 
tressed. 

Not take it to heart, that I am a ruined, 
disgraced man. Sir Robert ? ” he answered, ex- 
citedly. 

“ But, you are not. You don’t see things in 
their proper light. You have done nothing 
wrong, and, although it is a misfortune in one 
sense of the word, still you know it is but right 
that this little fellow should be restored to his 
family rights, and I am sure you can not regret 
it after you have had time to think it all 
over.” 

Regret it ? Oh, cant you understand that 
it isn’t that ? Sir Robert, I would have given 
anything, when I was only a boy, to have per- 
suaded my cousin to forgive his son. I plead 
for him, for I loved him, and I plead for his 
child, and would have hunted for him all over 
the world, if only to show my gratitude to one 
who has been a father to me ; but I was told — 
was solemnly assured, that the child and his 
mother were both dead, and believed it, as I 
7 


98 


WILFRED. 


believe in what you have just been telling me. 
But the world will laugh to scorn such an asser- 
tion on my part, and even my friends may well 
doubt my truth, when, as you see, my own fa- 
ther knew better. Oh, you who know the 
world, knozv that I am disgraced, though God 
knows it has been through no fault of mine that 
this trouble has come upon me.’' 

And then a silence fell upon them ; for the 
elder man could but realize the truth of his 
companion’s words, and an exceeding pity, min- 
gled with his admiration of the noble young 
heart sorrowing over the wrong and injustice 
done by another, as much as for his own blighted 
future. 

“ Did you say the child was coming to the 
Rectory?” asked Reginald at length. 

‘‘Yes, I thought it would be best; and this 
afternoon’s post brought me a few lines from 
one of the good women who have charge of 
him, which makes me most anxious to get him 
away from London. His little companion has 
lately died, and the boy is so distressed that his 
health is suffering, and he is very delicate at 
best.” 

He did not add another reason, which had 


WILFRED. 


99 


urged nurse Brinton to the unusual effort of 
penmanship. 

The stranger that I told your honor of, has 
been again to the hospital speering 'round, and 
Fm afraid he means no good." 

I will return to town to-morrow," continued 
Sir Robert, “ and think I shall be able to arrange 
matters so as to be back in a week, bringing 
Wilfred with me. Then you can see him, and 
also his father's miniature, which you will, of 
course, recognize, if he was your cousin. Mean- 
time, as Denbigh says, it would be useless to ex- 
cite Lord Lindisfarne's hopes without some cer- 
tainty of their realization, so I would advise 
you not to mention the subject of our conver- 
sation to any one but Denbigh for the present." 

‘‘Very well, sir; I will do just as you ad- 
vise." Then rising, “ Will you say something 
to account for my absence, please? I can’t 
face any of them to-night," and, wringing Sir 
Robert’s hand, Reginald sprang down the ter- 
race and disappeared among the shadows of the 
shrubbery. 

“Poor fellow, poor fellow! I pity him from 
my soul, and verily believe he is more cut up 
at his father’s wicked deception, and all it has 


lOO 


WILFRED. 


cost his guardian, than at the loss of fortune 
and perhaps position,” mused Sir Robert as he 
retraced his steps to the house, where the de- 
sired apologies were listened to, with concern by 
Madeline, and disgust by Maude, though she 
considered the baronet the real culprit in the 
disappointment of their plans for the evening. 


CHAPTER XI. 


B ack to Gordon’s Court, gentle reader, to 
where the angel of death so lately hov- 
ered over the low house, with the flowers grow- 
ing on the sills of the upper windows, and from 
whence he bore away the guileless spirit of the 
child who was so glad to go.” 

Some one is knocking, ‘ nia mie ’/ shall I de- 
scend to open the door?” 

^‘Yes, my dearie, do; and, Wilfred” — as he 
sped away — if it’s the costermonger, tell him 
to leave me a measure of carrots.” 

It was not the costermonger, however, but 
Sir Robert Elliott. 

‘‘Well, Wilfred, my boy, how are you?” he 
asked, in his cheery tones ; then breaking off at 
sight of his pallid cheek and heavy eyes, 
“ Why, where have the roses gone out of this 
pale, little face?” Then drawing him near, 
“Now, what do you think I have come for? 
Can you guess ? ” 

“ Is it to know if I sing at the Abbey, Mon- 

(lOl) 


102 


WILFRED. 


sieur?** and his eyes brightened. For two 
weeks I have sung, and the master is satisfait. 
He says I have the voice that pleases him, and, 
Monsieur, I thank you with all my heart for 
your goodness ; for but for you, ‘ ma mie ’ could 
not have known to arrange for me,'’ and v/ith 
one of his little foreign gestures, he raised Sir 
Robert's hand to his lips. 

My dear little fellow, I am only so glad to 
have been able to help you, but I’ve seen Mr. 
Hastings, and know all about the singing, and 
how well you are doing, so you must guess 
again.” 

I can not think, Monsieur, but ” — with an 
effort — if it is to see Winnie, you can not, for 
she is dead,” and his eyes filled with tears. 

“ Yes, I know ; but, my child, she is so happy 
with the angels, you must not wish her back.” 

Oh ! no. Monsieur, and I know maman is 
glad to have her, and to hear of me, but it is 
very lonely without Winnie. Oh ^ Monsieur, 
why do they leave me alway behind ? ” and he 
burst into tears. 

‘‘ Why, my child, you don’t want to die ? ” 


WILFRED. 


103 


“Yes, Monsieur, but I do. I want alway to 
go to mainari ; and Winnie dreamed one night 
she went to heaven and saw her, and she told 
me how beautiful it was, and promised to pray 
the good God to let me come.*' 

“ My boy," — and Sir Robert brushed away a 
tear, — “ don’t you think God is very good to us 
all, and to you, in taking care of you when you 
had no one else ? ’’ 

“Yes, Monsieur." 

“You know if He had not put it into nurse 
Brinton’s heart to bring you here to her sister, 
you might have been sent to persons who would 
have used you ill, and left you cold, and hungry, 
and ragged, like hundreds of little boys that I 
see on the streets." 

“Yes, Monsieur." 

“Well, I have done very little for you yet, 
but you thanked me just now, and I am sure 
you would like to do something for me, if you 
could?" 

“ Oh ! yes. Monsieur." 

“ Then don’t you see that you ought to want, 
above all, to do something for God, who has 
watched over you, and loved you all your whole 
life ? And it is not being grateful to Him to 


104 


WILFRED. 


grow impatient, and wish to leave this world of 
His, before we finish the work He wants us to 
do for Him here. You see,” he went on, seeing 
Wilfred was listening attentively, ‘Hhere are 
always plenty of ways for us to thank God ; we 
can thank Him in our prayers, and by being 
kind to one another, and good to His creatures. 
And then we can thank Him by using our tal- 
ents in His service; that is, I am thanking Him 
when I try to use my influence in the House of 
Commons, to persuade others to do what is 
right ; and you are thanking Him, when you use 
your beautiful voice, which He has given you, 
in singing His praises. Do you understand 
what I mean, my boy? and you’ll try and re- 
member it ? ” 

‘‘Yes, Monsieur, I will remember it alway,” 
replied the boy earnestly. 

“ Now, then,” said Sir Robert, cheerfully, “ if 
you can’t guess what brought me, I shall have 
to let ‘ the cat out of the bag ’ myself. I came 
to ask if you wouldn’t like to go to the country 
with me day after to-morrow, to see the grass, 
and trees, and flowers, and the horses and cows, 
and all the pleasant country sights?” . 

“ Oh ! so much. Monsieur, if only ‘ ma mie 


WILFRED. 


lOS 


would not be lonely for me, mats vous savez 
qu elle est toute seule maintenant et je ne pouvais 
pas la quitter P he ended with ready tact, as 
Mrs. Green came in. 

Well, Mrs. Green, I have just been asking 
this little man, how he would like to run in the 
country with me.” 

Thank you kindly, sir,” she replied, and 
then turning away to gain time to steady her 
voice : you^d like it dearly, wouldn't you, my 
lammie ? ” 

But, ^ ma micy you would be missing me, I 
know.” 

Oh ! I should be very busy, and if you went 
to the country, your old mammy would have to 
run up to the north-country to get a bit of fresh 
air too,” answered the worthy soul, with an 
heroic effort to be cheerful. 

Then, you will see again the old mill, and 
the crooked apple-tree, where the magpie hid 
the silver spoon of your mother! ” and Wilfred 
looked as if he thought no other jaunt could be 
quite equal to going with ma mie'* to the 


io6 


WILFRED. 


scenes made familiar by her endless store of 
anecdotes. 

Oh, yes! and I’ll have some new stories to 
tell when I come home — I mean, that is, when 
1 see you again, my dearie.’' 

Seeing Westmoreland already possessed spe- 
cial attractions. Sir Robert was afraid he might 
decide not to accept his invitation ; so, turning 
to Mrs. Green, he asked if she thought Wilfred 
might be trusted to ride a pony? 

Wilfred’s eyes fairly sparkled. 

Oh, Monsieur! can you mean that?” 

^^To be sure I do. I want you to have rosy 
cheeks, like some little friends of mine in Devon- 
shire, where we are going together. They have 
a pony too, and we can have some races, and I 
believe they all know how to sing. Some of 
them can, I know, and you must take your sur- 
plice, so as to sing in the choir, Wilfred, at the 
beautiful church there,” said Sir Robert, watch- 
ing the boy’s face as he spoke, and well pleased 
at his expression of delight. 

Once satisfied that 7na mie^' too, would have 
the pleasure of a visit to the country, and was 
content to have him go, and the sad, loving, lit- 
tle heart gave a great throb of gladness. Going 


WILFRED. 


107 


to the country would be something like going 
to heaven, for Winnie said so, in her dream ; 
and heaven meant maman and papa, and the 
Holy Jesus to him. Ah, if Winnie could but 
know! But perhaps she did, for angels some- 
times came down from the sky, else why did 
the pictures in the print-shop have angels lead- 
ing little children, and watching by their beds? 
And then the pony 1 How fast he would gallop 
along, like the little boys in Rotten Row! and 
at the thought, the far-off look in his eyes gave 
place to one of genuine childish pleasure, to Sir 
Robert's entire satisfaction. 

If it turns out not to be his grandfather, he 
is mine, and shall have all that love and money 
can bestow,” he said to himself; then, aloud. 
Well, Mrs. Green, how soon can you get Wil- 
fred ready? I want you to buy him an entire 
outfit, everything you think he ought to have,” 
handing her 2 . £\o note; “and here comes my 
brougham, and I think he had best come with 
me now, to get his hat and shoes and the 
clothes he will need from the tailor.” 

“ Oh, sir ! you are too good ! ” as Wilfred 
rushed up-stairs for his hat, “ but you don’t think 
that Fil never see his bonny little face again 


io8 


WILFRED. 


after he leaves me?’' she questioned, choking 
back a sob, as the boy came bounding back. 

‘‘ I am quite sure you will meet again/’ he 
answered, for he certainly owes more to you 
than to any one in the world, and you must 
know him too well to think he will ever forget 
it.” And Sir Robert shook hands with her kind- 
ly as he took his leave. 

‘‘To Regent Street,” and as the coachman 
touched his hat and drove off, Wilfred leaned 
forward to kiss his hand to ma mie'' standing 
in the doorway. 

“ Wilfred,” as-ked Sir Robert, as they left the 
shop, after having ordered what seemed to him 
enough clothes for four boys, “ wouldn’t you 
like to give something nice to Mrs. Green and 
to her sister, as keepsakes?” 

The boy’s face flushed pink all over at the 
bare mention of such a pleasure. 

“What do you think they would like?” 

“ Oh, Monsieur ! I know, for I heard them say, 
but mere Babette said they must wait till their 
ship came in, and I think it has not come yet, for 
they still wear the same dresses to church.” 

“ Well, but you haven’t told me: yet what 
it is?” 


WILFRED. 


109 


Why, they both wished for black dresses of 
silk, but I fear they would cost too dear.” 

Well, come in here, and let us see what Mr. 
Peter Robinson will say about it and to Wil- 
fred’s intense delight, yard after yard of the rich 
fabric was measured off, and then done up in 
separate parcels and put into the brougham — 
one for ma mie'^ and one for ni^re Babette. 

Then they drove to the Zoo,” where Wilfred 
had never been before, and he fed the monkeys 
and bears with cakes, and saw all the strange 
beasts and birds ; and coming back, stopped at 
Sir Robert’s house in Grosvenor Gardens, where 
they had luncheon in the lofty dining-room, 
with its mirrors, and bronzes, and rich rugs, and 
somehow, dim memories were awakened in the 
boy’s mind, of having seen rooms like these be- 
fore, and of being lifted up in papa’s arms to 
kiss the baby in the glass. 

Poor Cavendish! those weie halcyon days 
when he still hoped to be forgiven. 


CHAPTER XII. 


‘‘XT THAT’S your hurry? It’s early yet,” 
^ ^ said Mrs. Hollis, as her neighbor 
from across the way stood up to go. 

“ Thank ye, but I maun be at my wark,” she 
replied ; then continuing their conversation — • 
“ But it’s my belief, Mrs. Hollis, that it’ll no’ 
be lang before there’s anither burial frae that 
house. Ye may depend the little laddie’s no’ 
lang for this warld,” and Mrs. Campbell shook 
her head sorrowfully. “ I noted, at the buriab 
the ither day, how he’s gaun awa’, and it’s my 
fear that he’s in a waste.” 

“Do you really think so, now?” questioned 
her companion. 

“ He luiks vera like it to me,” rejoined Mrs* 
Campbell; ‘^for it’s just how my sister’s little 
lass, Effie, luiked, wi’ the blue veins standin’ 
out on her forehead, an’ all the doctors in Edin- 
boro’ could do her na guid ; and they called it 
a ‘waste.’ Puir little lad! it makes me greet 

to see him sae down-hearted about the little 
(no) 


WILFRED, 


III 


lassie,’^ said the kind-hearted woman, as she 
took her leave. 

It chanced that Mrs. Hollis, coming to her 
door, was just in time to catch a glimpse of 
Sir' Robert, as he drove off in his brougham 
with Wilfred, and she straightway resolved to 
drop in by and by, and make one more effort to 
discover the mystery of these visits from the 
handsome stranger, and of his interest in that 
boy of neighbor Green’s. 

She scarcely hoped to have her curiosity 
gratified, and was therefore no little surprised, 
when, in answer to her inquiries, Mrs. Green in- 
formed her of the fact that the stranger was 
not a “ manager,” but a member of Parliament ; 
and was about to take charge of Wilfred, who 
would go at once to the country, where she 
hoped he would grow strong ; and also, that she 
and her sister would both leave London as soon 
as they could make their arrangements. 

Mrs. Brinton had received such urgent letters 
from her former mistress — who was in failing 
health — that she had decided to return to her, 
as soon as her place could be supplied at the 
hospital, and Mrs. Green, having no other ti€><B, 
would go to her brother in Westmoreland. 


II2 


WILFRED. 


Seldom had Mrs. Hollis ever had such a rare 
budget of news as this to communicate, and 
she felt not a little gratified that she should 
have been the first to whom Mrs. Green had 
confided her plans. 

Poor ma mie ! ’’ Her heart was very sore for 
the child in heaven, and for the one on earthy 
from whom she was about to be separated too. 
Then she was loth to leave the little home, to 
which her husband had brought her before he 
sailed away in the ship, which went down with 
all on board. Within its four walls she had 
wept her bitter tears of widowhood, and clasped 
her fatherless child to her aching heart with a 
yearning tenderness, which had deepened with 
the growth of the fragile little being, so unlike 
all the other babies in the Court ; and now 
everything around her so reminded her of Win- 
nie, that she almost felt it would be like put- 
ting her from her, to leave the only spot she 
had known. She was more sorry, too, than she 
would once have believed possible, to bid fare- 
well to Gordon’s Court and its inhabitants — 
Gordon’s Court, which had seemed so narrow 
and stilling, when she came to it first from the 
green hills of her home in the north country. 


WILFJ^ED. 


II3 

And so in the fullness of her heart she talked 
with Mrs. Hollis, and, forgetting all her faults, 
remembered only that she had been a good 
neighbor, with always a pleasant word for the 
children. 

Mrs. Green was a woman of few words, and 
her reserve had often been mistaken for pride 
by her neighbors. Nor had she ever seen very 
much of them, since her busy life left her little 
time for visiting. Yet, one and all heard with 
regret from Mrs. Hollis that the little house 
was about to lose its tenants, and that the 
kindly face of Fanny Green would be no more 
seen among them. 

S 


chapter XIII. 


‘'T CAN’T think what ails Reginald, mam^ 
ma ; ’’ and Madeline laid down the hand- 
kerchief she was marking for her father, with a 
troubled look. He hasn’t been here for five 
days now — not since the day he came to din- 
ner and sat on the terrace with Sir Robert all 
the evening.’^ 

“ Perhaps he is ill, my love ; or Lord Lindis- 
farne may be more ailing than usual, and Regi- 
nald occupied with him.” 

Oh ! no, the Earl isn’t ill, for papa and I 
met him this morning, driving out ; and papa 
told him Mr. Denbigh expected a new chorister 
down from London, and asked if he wouldn’t 
come next Sunday to St. Mary’s to hear him ; 
and he was very friendly and nice, and said per- 
haps he would, if he was able ; and Geoffrey 
mentioned seeing Regie yesterday, on his way 
to Culverton, with Max Lauderdale, and, the day 
before, we met them in the lane, and Max 
stopped to speak, and Regie only bowed, and 
(114) 


WILFRED. 


II5 

stood aside to wait for him/’ said Madeline 
sorrowfully. 

Well, dear, I think having any one staying 
with him, accounts for his absence.” 

But, mamma. Regie always brings Max 
with him, whenever he’s staying at the Towers, 
and I can’t think what can be the matter ! ” and 
her eyes filled with tears. 

‘‘Could you have offended him in anyway?” 
asked her mother thoughtfully. 

“Oh! mamma, how ca7i you ask? I never 
saw Regie angry in my life, except that time 
when his father was rude to papa. And, be- 
side, he was so bright and gay last Friday when 
he came to dinner. I know it is owing to some- 
thing Sir Robert said to him, for you remember 
he never came back into the house at all that 
evening, although he had brought over some of 
his music to sing for us.” 

“ Well, Madeline,” said her mother, “ suppose 
I ask Sir Robert, if there is anything amiss ? 
There may be some trouble connected with his 
father, or perhaps some little misunderstand- 
ing, which a word would put right. He will be 
at the Rectory at the end of the week, you 
know 1 ” 


ii6 


WILFRED. 


Oh ! do ask him, mamma, for I am so un- 
happy, but don't let him think anything, please. 
When do you think you will see him?" she 
asked, brightening considerably. 

Your papa is going to ask Mr. Denbigh and 
him to dine on Sunday, and to bring that little 
boy with them." 

‘‘Why do you think Sir Robert is going to 
the Rectory, instead of coming here, mamma?" 

“ Partly, I believe, to give pleasure to Mr. 
Denbigh, and partly because he thinks it will be 
best for the child to place him at once where 
he is to remain. The Rectory would be very 
dull and lonely for him, if he went there from 
such a houseful of children as this. You know 
there is some mystery about him, and Sir 
Robert is trying to find out his relatives, and 
Mr. Denbigh has consented to receive him in 
the meantime." 

“ Didn't Sir Robert say he was French?" 

“ No, English, and brought up in France ; but 
probably his accent would scarcely meet with 
M. Dupuy’s approval," replied her mother, 
smiling. “ Don't you remember what trouble 
he had in unlearning your elder ones, what Clem-- 
ence had taught you ? " 


WILFRED. 


II7 


Poor Clemence,’* said Madeline, her heart 
was better than her French, certainly. Don’t 
you remember, mamma, how she used to make 
excuses for Geoffrey, when he behaved ill ? 
Even the time when he pushed her into the 
brook, and spoiled her new French boots, that 
she thought so much of? and how she cried 
when papa made him give her part of Sir Rob- 
ert’s birthday gift, to get a new pair ? ” 

So the mother and daughter talked on, and 
when at length Lady Margaret rose, in obe- 
dience to the small voices floating down through 
the bars of the nursery windows, telling mam- 
ma they were waiting for their good-night kiss, 
Madeline sat still, gazing dreamily out into the 
gathering twilight, but somehow feeling cheered 
and somewhat comforted. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


TT was Wilfred^s last evening with ma niie! 
^ His box was ready packed, and stood in one 
corner of the little room down-stairs, but was 
not yet locked, for ma mie was busy ironing 
his surplice, lingering over her task with loving 
touch, and quiet tears. The boy himself, was 
sitting by the window, with his arm on the sill, 
resting his head in his hand. 

He was in a deep revery, and once or twice 
ma mW had glanced round to see if he was 
crying. But no — his thoughts were far away. 
He was thinking of his visit to Sir Robert’s 
house, and trying to remember where he had 
seen a tall mirror over a chimney-piece, and a 
clock, in the wheel of a chariot with prancing 
horses. 

Ma mie ? '' 

Yes, dearie.” 

Did you ever think to have seen something 
you had not ? ” 


WILFRED. 


II9 

‘‘Why, no, Wilfred, I never did,^^ she answer- 
ed, puzzled. “What do you mean?” 

“ Oh, not anything ; only when I went to Sir 
Robert’s, it seemed as if — why, she has come in 
a cab, with all her boxes ! he exclaimed, sud- 
denly breaking off and running to the door. 

Sure enough, there was mere Babette ; and 
great was his surprise to learn that she had left 
the hospital and had come to stay with “ ma 
mie^' to help her get ready to go to the country. 
How nice it would be to have her there all the 
time ! He half wished he was not going away, 
then thought of the green lanes and the pony, 
and was glad to think ma mie"' would not be 
lonely now without him. 

Nurse Brinton, having been duly welcomed, 
and her bonnet exchanged for a white cap, the 
black silk dress was presented, and received 
with intense satisfaction ; and then Mrs. Green, 
with infinite pride, called her attention to Wil- 
fred’s traveling suit of gray cassimere, with 
stockings to match, and made him put on his 
straw hat with its broad blue ribbon. 

It being his last evening, he stayed up to sup- 
per, and had his bread and butter spread with 
jam as a special treat, but was charged by ma 


120 


WILFFED, 


mie on no account to make a practice of eat-* 
ing jam at night. 

Poor woman ! She was like a mother-bird 
whose last treasure is leaving the nest, while 
still unable to fly, and she gave him more di- 
rections than the boy could possibly remember, 
though he promised to do all she told him. 

When at last he went off to bed, she went 
with him to hear him his prayers, and Mrs. 
Brinton, lingering over a last cup of tea, was 
so startled by a loud knock at the door that she 
nearly dropped the cup. Nor was she by any 
means reassured by seeing the dreaded face of 
Captain Neville. His insinuating manner was 
no longer assumed, and he angrily demanded 
of her the name of the person who had adopted 
‘‘that Ferrars child,’* and roughly threatened 
her with prosecution, if she persisted in hiding 
what she knew of his whereabouts. 

One moment of terror, lest her sister, or pos- 
sibly Wilfred himself, should appear at the un- 
usual sounds below — and nurse Brinton was 
herself again. Straightening her tall form to 
its utmost height, and assuming the air of 
command, which she well knew how to wear, 
she coolly asked him “how he dared come 


WILFRED, 


121 


there, when she had twice before answered his 
questions, and, if he wasn't satisfied, he would 
get no more.” 

In her anxiety to get rid of him she talked 
fast and loud, calling him purposely by name, 
and once descending to actual abuse, as she 
heard the stairs creak under Mrs. Green's step. 
S/te would have been no match for this man, 
and fortunately poor ma mie^' took the cue, 
€and stood trembling on the last step to listen, 
and thank God that Wilfred was safe in his cot 
up-stairs. 

The quiet, well-trained hospital nurse had 
seemed to Captain Neville a creature whom he 
might easily force to obey him, by threats and 
harsh words ; but to brave this enraged virago, 
who towered full two inches above him, and 
once (the stairs creaked again) seemed on the 
point of striking him, was more than he felt 
prepared for, and with curses long and deep, 
he banged the door behind him — fairly routed. 

Poor mere Babette sank down into the near- 
est chair, and came nearer having hysterics than 
ever before or after. 

The Captain had been down to Devonshire, 
and Reginald's manner had at once convinced 


122 


WILFRED. 


him that something very much amiss had oc- 
curred. At dinner he had been absent, and 
late at night, on returning, had gone quietly up 
to his own room, and, being next to Lord Lin- 
disfarne’s, his father had not ventured to pay 
him so late a visit. The next morning young 
Lauderdale came to breakfast by appointment, 
and the two friends went off on an all-day ex- 
pedition immediately after. 

Very ill at ease, the Captain spent the morn- 
ing in wandering ''round the place, planning (as 
usual) what changes and improvements he 
would suggest when these broad acres should 
be Reginald's, and, thus wandering, met Mr. 
Denbigh going home from the village by a 
short cut through the park. 

As may be supposed, the two men had noth- 
ing in common, but, moved by courtesy, the 
clergyman paused to ask after the Earl. 

Poor old gentleman ! " he added, I wish 
he was less intolerant where non-essentials are 
concerned, so that I could believe my visits 
more acceptable, for I feel for him deeply in 
his lonely life." 

‘‘Lonely? Why should he be lonely?" re- 
sponded the Captain, impatiently. “ He has 


WILFRED. 


123 


Reginald, Fm sure, and he’s a much better child 
to him than that good-for-nothing son of his 
who died in India.” 

‘‘That may be, Captain Neville,” replied the 
clergyman quietly, “ but each of us will love 
his own best, you know. Did you ever hear 
with certainty what became of Captain Ferrars’ 
little son ? ” 

An ashy pallor overspread the man’s face — 
the suddenness of the question had driven all 
the blood to his heart. 

“ Certainly,” he answered, rallying, and mak- 
ing an effort to speak naturally. “ He and his 
mother both died three years ago in Boulogne. 
The child had scarlet fever, and the mother 
took it from him, and they were both buried 
the same day.” 

For full a minute, the two men looked each 
other in the eye, but the soldier quailed before 
the steady gaze of the priest, and when, without 
another word, he turned and went on his way, 
he knew that in some inexplicable manner, his 
sin had found him out, and that Mr. Denbigh 
knew it ! 

Blind with rage and apprehension, he went 
on and on, then, with the calmness of despera- 


124 


WILFRED. 


tion, turned and retraced his steps. Whatever 
Denbigh had found out, Reginald knew, and 
this was why he had avoided him ’ He would 
feign some excuse, return to London by the 
afternoon train, seek out that woman, and com- 
pel her to tell him who had adopted that ac- 
cursed boy ! Come to rob Reginald? — he should 
not ! No, not if he had to move heaven and 
earth to prevent it ! and he gnashed his teeth 
and swore a bitter oath. 

Returning to the house, he requested the foot- 
man blandly, to order a conveyance to take him 
to the station, and to explain to his master and 
Mr. Neville, that he had been suddenly recalled 
to town on business, enforcing his words by a 
larger fee, than (as James expressed it to his 
confidante — Patty), the Capting usually gave, 
or, in fact, military gents of hany rank.’' 

Hence the visit to Gordon’s Court. 


CHAPTER XV. 


ND what of Reginald? He had gone 



^ ^ home from Lauriston, more miserable 
than words could express. He had spent half 
the night, after the Earl retired, in walking the 
Library floor, and then, when kind Mrs. Stratton 
ventured to come in to remonstrate, had gone 
to his own room, rather than distress her ; but 
Patty reported next morning that Mr. Neville 
had not gone to bed at all, as she found his 
room untouched. 

The good old housekeeper was sorely troub 
led at seeing her favorite so cast down, and 
longed to comfort him, while at a loss to dis- 
cover the cause of his evident distress. He did 
not seek her, as usual, when in any trouble ; in- 
deed, to what earthly friend could he turn in 
this hour of darkness ? Several times he was on 
the point of telling her all, but remembered Sir 
Robert's caution, and refrained. She, at least, 
would never doubt his sincerity or truth ! He 
shrank from seeing Mr. Denbigh, who must ah 


(125) 


126 


WILFRED, 


ready know of his father’s perfidy. The Lau 
ristons he could not face ; even to think of them 
was anguish. Their happy intercourse was all 
at an end forever, now, and still, never for a mo- 
ment was Madeline absent from his thoughts. 
He had no doubt that the boy would prove to 
be his cousin’s grandson, and if not, he would 
no longer rest on his father’s word, but make 
some excuse, and go off himself and search for 
him, until he found him., if alive, and if dead, he 
would find out, at least, where he and his mother 
were buried, and remove their ashes to the 
family burial-place at Lindisfarne. This much 
he would try to do for poor Cavendish’s wife 
and child. 

Pale, and unutterably wretched, he came down 
the next morning, and read prayers as usual, to 
the assembled household ; then after breakfast, 
the Times to Lord Lindisfarne, going through 
it all mechanically; but when he looked out of 
his window, later in the day, and saw his father 
dri^dng up the avenue in the fly from the.^^ Lau- 
riston Arms,” it was too much ! He felt he 
could not breathe the same air, or bear to look 
at him, and ordering his horse, he left word 
with Mrs. Stratton that he was going over to 


WILFRED. 


T27 


Sir William Lauderdale’s and would not be back 
till late. 

A few hours after, and he had confided all 
his trouble to his faithful friend, warm-hearted, 
impetuous Max, whose burst of honest indig- 
nation at what he termed a ‘‘nasty trick,” did 
poor Reginald good, while at the same time it 
brought home to him afresh the mortification 
and shame of having such a parent. 

“ How can I meet him? How can I speak to 
him, Max, or endure to see him sharing the 
hospitality of the man he has wronged so cru- 
elly ? And yet he is my father ! Oh, it is too 
terrible ! too terrible ! ” and the poor fellow 
buried his face in his hands. 

“Yes, it must be a frightful thing to have 
one’s father a scoundrel,” thought Max to him- 
self ; “ and a beastly shame, too, his getting 
poor Rex into such a funk, but ‘ blood is thicker 
than water,’ and I’d best not pitch into the old 
rascal any harder, or it might hurt the poor fel- 
low’s feelings. By George, what shall I say to 
him?” and Max moved uneasily on his chair, 
then jumping up, he threw his arm ’round Reg- 
nald : “ I say, old fellow, now don’t you be so 
cut up. This trouble is none of your brewings 


128 


WILFRED. 


you know, and if the Earl is what I take him 
for, Fm sure that’s the view he’ll take of it. I 
knov/ that’s the way my dear old governor 
would look at it, and anyhow, Rex, come what 
will, you may count on me. Fll stand by you 
through thick and thin, my boy, or my name’s 
not Max Lauderdale.” 

In happier days Reginald could have laughed 
at the tragic expression on his friend’s face ; 
but as it was, he only felt grateful for the affec- 
tion, which he knew to be genuine and true. 

Come, cheer up now, and I’ll tell you what 
I’ll do. I’ll come over to breakfast in the morn- 
ing, and we’ll drive across country to Culverton. 
There are to be some horses sold there, and 
Elsie needs a new riding-horse, for old ‘ Trot ’ is 
on his last legs, and I want your opinion on the 
subject. I’ll spend the night with you, of course, 
for we won’t get back till late.” 

And so it was arranged, and Reginald appre- 
ciated the tact, which had devised the expedi- 
tion, in order to spare him the intercourse which 
he dreaded. He was too sore, however, to ac- 
cept the invitation to dinner, even when warmly 
urged by Sir William and Lady Lauderdale, with 
whom he was a prime favorite, and rode off in 


WILFRED. 


129 


the moonlight, scarcely caring where. Not so 
his beautiful horse, which set off at a brisk can- 
ter for home ; but passing through a little ham- 
let by the way, stopped to drink at the stone 
trough in front of the Star and Trumpet/' 
Now the rosy landlord of this little inn, and his 
more rosy wife, considered themselves under 
everlasting obligation to Reginald, for having 
once snatched their only child, unhurt, from 
under the heels of the four prancing steeds at- 
tached to the Culverton coach, and therefore, 
on recognizing him by the light of the moon, 
they came hurrying out to beg and insist that 
he should step in for a bit o' something nice." 

Beginning to feel rather weak from his long 
fast, and not being in such haste to get home 
as was Black Bob," he gave him in charge to 
the hostler to be cared for, and delighted the 
worthy couple by enjoying a hearty meal in 
their little parlor, cooked and served by Mrs. 
Vaughan herself. Moreover, he further won 
her heart by inquiring very particularly as to 
Jackie's health and morals, and left half a crown 
for him, to be spent to his liking at Culverton 
Fair. 

‘‘ How cold the moonlight looks, when one is 
9 


130 


WILFRED. 


alone and heavy-hearted/’ mused the young 
man, sadly, as he rode on his way. The night 
was very still. Little flecks of silvery clouds 
were scattered over the heavens, some of them 
tinged with palest gold, as they floated near the 
moon ; and down toward the horizon lay a bank 
of pearl-gray mist, which bore an absurd resem- 
- blance to a gigantic white rabbit. 

Reginald half smiled as he remembered how 
merry they had often been over such fancies 
during pleasant, happy evenings at Lauriston. 
He felt sure thty missed him, and wondered if 
they fancied him ill. But no ; Lady Margaret 
would have sent to inquire. Absurd ! It was 
only yesterday, after all, that he had dined with 
them! Twenty-four hours! It might have 
been three months! The rein hung loose on 
“ Black Bob’s ” arching neck, and Reginald, lost 
in thought, was suddenly roused by his coming 
to a dead halt in front of the side gate, which 
was the shortest road from the Towers to 
Lauriston. The horse knew well his master’s 
habits. 

No, not to-night, ‘Black Bob,’” and he 
tightened his rein and turned away with a 


WILFRED. 


I3I 

sharp pang, for in the distance he could see the 
lights twinkling through the trees. 

^‘The moon looks on many flowers; the 
flowers see but one moon,’^ reads the Persian 
proverb. 

Madeline had put out her candle, and, gently 
closing the door between her room and 
Maude’s, was kneeling in that same moonlight^ 
praying God to bless and keep him and to help 
him in all his needs. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


DIEU, ^ nia mie^ ; adieu, m^re Babette,” 



^ ^ called Wilfred, as he drove away with 
Sir Robert, and leaned far out of the carriage- 
window, with eyes brimming over, to kiss his 
hand, as they stood on the steps to see the last 
of him. 

^^Well, Fanny,’' said nurse Brinton with a 
sigh, we’ve done a good part by him, and Fm 
thankful he’s in safe hands,” but ma mie s' only 
answer was a sob. 

Wilfred’s tears were presently dried, under 
the influence of the excitement of going on a 
journey, and Sir Robert not only had the satis- 
faction of seeing him amused and interested in 
all that he saw, but was greatly entertained by 
the naivete of his questions and remarks. 

^^Why have those little trees no feuillage 
on top. Monsieur?” he asked, as the train 
rushed on its way. 

They are not trees, my boy ; they are poles 


(132) 


WILFRED. 


133 


for the hop-vines to grow on ; but here is some- 
thing you will like to see — that round, white 
house, with the long arms turning 'round and 
'round, is called a wind-mill." 

‘‘Yes, Monsieur," he answered, simply, I 
remember to have seen them in France." 
Then, “You have been to Boulogne, Mon- 
sieur? " 

“ Only to pass through ; but, if I were to 
take you there again, Wilfred, would you be 
able to show me where you lived, do you 
think?" 

“Numero quinze. Rue Michaud, Monsieur. 
I learned it well ; for some days I had to go out 
alone, when maman was too ill, and if m'^re 
Susette had not some commissions., to take me 
with her ; for 7naman had fear to lose me." 

“ Wilfred, suppose your grandfather wanted 
very much to find you, so he could take you to 
live with him, would you be glad?" 

“ Oh, non, non, Monsieur ; he was mechant to 
papa and to maman, and I will not go to 
him ever ! " exclaimed the boy, passionately. 
“ Promise you will not let me go ! " and, quiv- 
ering with excitement, he seized Sir Robert's 
hand and looked up at him imploringly. Here 


134 


WILFRED, 


was an unexpected difficulty. Say you will 
not, Monsieur!'' pleaded the child. 

My boy, I have promised to take care of 
you and I will keep my word. I am not per^ 
fectly sure who your grandfather is, but I heard 
not long ago of an old gentleman with white 
hair, who has shut himself up to mourn for his 
dear son, who died in India, and for his little 
grandson, who is lost, and he thinks him dead, 
too. Poor old man ! I felt so sorry for him, 
and I thought to myself, if Wilfred's grandfa- 
ther was lonely and sad like that, I know he 
would love him for his papa’s sake, and do all 
he could to make him happy.” 

Is it that the old gentleman was cruel to 
his son before he died?” 

I am afraid so, and that was why I felt so 
sorry for him, and I am sure you would, too, 
if you could have seen him, walking with a 
stick, with his head bowed down. When we 
lose those we love, we grieve because they are 
gone, just as you have grieved for your father 
and mother, and little Winnie Green ; but be- 
lieve me, Wilfred, if you had been unkind to 
them, or distressed them while on earth, your 
sorrow aow would be ten times more bitter. 


WILFRED. 


135 


That longing to tell to the dead our regret for 
past injuries, is called remorse, my child, and is 
the most terrible anguish the human heart can 
possibly know.” 

Has that old gentleman remorse. Mon- 
sieur?” questioned the boy, with awe in his 
voice. 

I am afraid so, Wilfred ; and he is very 
old, and has not long to live, and I think 
the only thing that will ever comfort him 
will be to find his grandson. It would be a 
pity if he turned away from him, and let his 
poor old grandfathers life go down in sor- 
row to the grave, wouldn’t it now?” he asked, 
persuasively. 

‘Wes, Monsieur,’' was the grave reply. Then, 
after a pause, “ Is it that you think the old 
gentleman who has remorse, to be mon grmid- 
Monsieur?” 

“Well, my boy, I think he is, but I can't tell 
certainly. You are so like your father’s picture, 
that if he was this old man's son, I am sure he 
will know you by the likeness. Is the minia- 
ture in your box?” 

“ Oh, no. Monsieur ! it is here, with manians 
ring. Ma said it would be safe here;” 


136 


WILFRED, 


and he showed a glimpse of gold chain inside 
the broad white linen collar. 

So it will. Then as the train slackened 
speed at a station, ^^Why, what’s this? Now 
here’s something I am sure you have never 
seen, Wilfred. That is a gipsy camp. Do you 
see those dark men and women beside those 
long, covered wagons, and the little brown chil- 
dren tumbling about on the grass?” 

The diversion came just in time. A great 
struggle was going on in the boy’s mind, and a 
feeling that he was about to be deserted by his 
last friend was stealing over him, but everything 
was, for the time, forgotten at sight of the gip- 
sies. Real, live gipsies ! Why, one of ma mie's'" 
very nicest, and longest, stories was of the lady 
who lived near them in Westmoreland, whose 
only child had been stolen and carried off by 
them ! Ah ! how often had he and Winnie list- 
ened, till their blood curdled, at ma mie's'* ac- 
count of how all the neighbors had turned out 
and hunted through the woods with torches; 
and how the mill-pond had been dragged and 
the wells searched ! How the poor mother had 
run wildly hither and thither among the rough 
country folk, offering them silver and gold, if 


WILFRED, 


137 


they would bring back her child. How at last 
they traced her away down in Surrey, by one 
of her gold armlets, offered at a pawn-broker’s 
by a gipsy man, and found her ragged and ill 
in one of their tents ; but meantime the poor 
mother had gone stark mad, and did not know 
her child when at last she was fetched home. 
Would Sir Robert like to hear about it? And 
the trouble vanished out of Wilfred’s eyes as he 
recounted the tale, and time sped happily again. 
As they neared Salisbury, however. Sir Robert 
noticed that, in spite of his interest, he leaned 
his head wearily against the cushioned back of 
the seat, and decided forthwith to rest over 
night and go on to Lauriston next day. 

“ Is it here that we stop. Monsieur?’^ asked 
Wilfred, surprised, as Sir Robert hastily left the 
train and summoned James from the next car 
riage to look after the luggage. 

‘‘No, only for to-night; we will have a good 
rest, and have time to see the cathedral to- 
morrow before we leave.” 

“ Is it that there is a cathedral in this place, 
Monsieur?” exclaimed the boy, clasping his 
liands in eager anticipation. 

“One of the most beautiful in England 


138 


WILFRED. 


Wilfred,” replied Sir Robert, and to-morrow 
we will go to service. Wouldn’t you like 
that ?” 

Oh, so much, Monsieur ! ” Then, as they 
walked toward the hotel, You are so good to 
me, Monsieur,” and he slipped his hand into Sir 
Robert’s. A very slender little hand it was, and 
the kind heart was touched, as he noted how 
much thinner it had grown of late. 

“ When he gets to the country he will be all 
right, and grow rosy and strong like Lauriston’s 
children,” he said to himself. 

The visit to Salisbury was over, and the never- 
to-be-forgotten glimpse of the cathedral — “ Al- 
most as grand and beautiful as the Abbaye, 
Monsieur,” Wilfred had whispered as they stood 
in the nave. 

And now once more they were whirling rap- 
idly away on the train, past farm-houses and 
cottages, with their orchards and gayly planted 
gardens ; through fields from which the glean- 
ers had gathered the golden corn, past hamlet;, 
and church-spires, half hidden by the trees; 
through the sunshine, under the blue summer 
sky —on and on they sped. 

Nothing escaped Wilfred’s attention ; every 


WILFRED. 


139 


breath seemed a pleasure, every moir ent a joy, 
to the child so long pent up in the great city. 
When at last they reached the Rectory, it was 
afternoon, and finding Mr. Denbigh gone to 
evening service. Sir Robert strolled up the hill 
to the church with his little companion. 

Would you like to go in, Wilfred ? ’’ he asked, 
pausing beside the arched doorway leading into 
the quaint old porch. 

** No, Monsieur, not now,’' answered the boy 
dejectedly. 

Then shall we rest here ?” asked Sir Robert, 
greatly surprised at his answer, and they sat 
down on the stone seat beside the church, which 
served as a resting-place for the weary, after the 
somewhat steep ascent of the hill. 

It was a lovely afternoon, and very beautiful 
was the landscape stretched out before them, of 
rolling hills and wooded slopes, and far away a 
glimpse of blue sea bounding the horizon. The 
slanting sunbeams were flooding all the uplands 
with that mellow, tranquil light, so different 
from the glare of noonday, touching the gilded 
cross on the slender spire, with a glory not its 
own, and turning to golden bronze the leaves 
of a copper-beech near by. 


140 


WILFRED. 


The voice of praise accorded well with the 
peaceful scene without. 

What is he thinking t)f, and why did he 
prefer to rest out here?” mused Sir Robert, 
glancing down at the motionless little figure be- 
side him. Wilfred’s face was turned away, and 
not caring to disturb him, he sat drinking in 
the beauty of the landscape, his thoughts wan- 
dering away into the past, till recalled by a sigh 
which sounded very like a sob. 

^‘What is it, my child?” he asked, drawing 
him close, till the curly head rested on his 
breast. 

“ Nothing, Monsieur,” answered the boy, 
sadly, only they are singing Winnie’s hymn.” 

“ It is one of my favorites too,” said Sir 
Robert, as the plaintive notes of I need Thee, 
precious Jesus,” rose and fell on the evening 
air. 

I need very much le bon Jesu^ Monsieur, for 
I have not any one, you know,” and his voice 
grew husky. 

Don’t say that, my child,” said Sir Robert, 
‘‘we all need the Blessed Jesus, but you have 
plenty of friends to love you too,” and he 
stroked back the clustering locks from the pure 


WILFRED. 


I4I 

brow, longing to drive away the desolate feeling 
which he could see was creeping over him. 

‘‘Would to God I could keep him for my 
own ! ” he murmured to himself. 

How fragile he looked, as if almost nothing 
would waft him away, and oh ! so pitiful as he 
nestled up to him ! “ What it must have cost 

his poor young mother to leave him unprotect- 
ed,’' was the thought which was uppermost in 
Sir Robert’s mind, as he talked to him in a 
gentle, soothing way, and when the sound of 
footsteps announced that the service was at an 
end, they left their seat on the stone bench and 
strolled toward the brow of the hill. 

In truth, the conversation of the day before, 
was weighing heavily on Wilfred’s mind. For 
a time he had forgotten it, in the excitement of 
his journey; but now, in the quiet evening walk, 
the remembrance that possibly he might some 
day be brought in contact with his dreaded 
grandfather, and separated from “ ma mie' and 
m^re Babette,” and “Monsieur” — all his little 
world — came home to him with a very real 
sense of impending evil. 

“ Let’s count up how many friends you 
have,” continued Sir Robert in a cheerful tone. 


142 


WILFRED. 


‘^There's Mrs. Green, and nurse Brinton, a.id 
myself, that’s three.” 

‘‘Yes, Monsieur.” 

“ Well, then, here will be Mr. Denbigh, at 
whose house we are stopping, you know. I am 
sure he will love you dearly, and to-morrow I 
am going to take you with me to dine at Lau- 
riston Hall, where there are plenty of little 
friends for you, although they are all girls. But 
they will show you all their pets, and let you 
ride on their pony, I know.” Then seeing him 
look more cheerful: “Now, shall we go and 
speak to Mr. Denbigh, and let him know we are 
come?” and they went across to where the 
Rector stood talking to the sexton, on some 
parish matters. 

Scarcely daring to raise his eyes, Wilfred gave 
Mr. Denbigh his hand, then as the two gentle- 
men talked together, summoned courage to 
look up, and saw a pleasant face with rather 
serious eyes, looking kindly down at him, and 
straightway his fears vanished. 

The early dinner at the Rectory was long 
over, but the housekeeper had prepared high 
tea for the travelers, and James had already ar- 
ranged his master’s traps in the cosy little bed- 


WrLFRED, 


143 


room, whose diamond-paned windows filled Wil- 
fred with wonder. In an alcove stood a little 
white bed, which he at once knew must be intend- 
ed for him, and his spirits rose in consequence, 
for he had had many fears lest he should be put 
to sleep, away by himself, in this strange house. 

Where are Fuss and Buss, Janet?'’ asked 
Mr. Denbigh of the neat parlor-maid, as they 
sat down to tea. 

In the kitchen, sir, with Hannah ; shall I 
send them in?” 

‘‘By all means;” then to Wilfred: “Now, 
Wilfred, you are going to see the rest of my 
family, and I hope you will be good friends. 
Here they come,” as a scampering and barking 
were heard in the hall, and in rushed two skye 
terriers, like balls of tangled floss, with black 
eyes shining through a veil of soft hair. 

“ Stop ! stop ! ” called their master, “ where are 
your manners? Speak to the gentlemen!” and 
for an instant both little creatures stood erect. 
“ That will do,” and at a sign, they both leaped 
into a vacant chair placed by Mr. Denbigh, and 
sat patiently through the meal, receiving by 
turns, from time to time, little morsels of bread 
and chicken. 


144 


WILFRED. 


Wilfred was enchanted. He could scarcely 
eat for watching them; and, when they went 
into the drawing-room, Mr. Denbigh showed 
him with a little ball how they could fetch and 
carry, and he spent the rest of the evening 
most happily in playing with them. Warned 
at last by the weary look in his eyes — although 
he protested he was not tired — Sir Robert told 
him he must say good-night, and went up-stairs 
himself to see him safely in bed, leaving him 
full of pleasant anticipations for the morrow. 

Blessed childhood that lives in the present, 
alike forgetful of future and past, and rejoices 
in the light, all unconscious that the clouds arc 
nearer us than the sun ! 


CHAPTER XVII. 


T T T ELL, what do you think of him, Dem 
high?’" asked Sir Robert, when he 
returned to the drawing-room. 

I think there is something strangely at- 
tractive about him,” replied the Rector. It is 
not altogether his beauty, but there is a loveli- 
ness about him which one can not exactly de- 
scribe — something so appealing; and his for- 
eign accent, and the very un-English way he 
has of expressing himself, are altogether fasci- 
nating. I never saw the Earl’s son, but if this 
is his grandson, he will indeed have a blessing 
to be thankful for. As for me, I feel as if i 
should scarcely know how to take proper care 
of him ; he looks so very delicate.” 

Yes,” rejoined Sir Robert, ^‘he doesn’t look 
as strong as I should like, and the good woman 
who had charge of him expressed many fears 
on the score of his health ; but I think it is 
only the effect of the heated city atmosphere, 
and hope to see him all right, now he is in this 
pure air.” 


lO 


(145) 


146 


WILFRED, 


I hope so sincerely/’ replied his friend. 
Do you think he will be ready to sing to-mor- 
row? I feel impatient to hear him.” 

‘‘ Oh, I don’t doubt he will, and I hope you 
will find I have not praised his voice too highly. 
I would have asked him to sing to-night, but 
when we walked up to the church this after- 
noon, you were singing a hymn which was a 
great favorite with his little playmate who 
lately died, and that, and possibly a touch of 
home-sickness together, depressed the poor lit- 
tle fellow, so that afterward I was afraid to 
mention it, lest I should reawaken some painful 
association. He is just like an April day, all 
tears and smiles, which is a most fortunate 
thing, for he feels so much more deeply than 
most children, that, but for his French charac- 
teristic of being easily diverted, his life would 
be all cloud and no sunshine. 

‘‘ By the by, do you know that villain Neville 
went to Mrs. Green’s to see nurse Brinton the. 
night before we left town ? ” 

‘‘ Let me see,” said Mr. Denbigh, thought- 
fully. ‘‘Why, it was only Thursday that I met 
him, as I came through the park. He must 
have been on his way to the station then. I 


WILFRED. 


147 


don’t remember now exactly how it came 
about, but he told me Captain Ferrars’ wife and 
child both died of fever ” 

What did you say to him ? ’’ 

I simply looked him in the eye and he 
quailed before me. He saw that I knew he was 
telling what was false.” 

Have you seen young Neville since we 
parted ? ” 

‘‘ Only at a distance. I think he seems to 
avoid me. I noticed , him at the early service 
yesterday morning, but he sat down by the 
door, and I never saw a sadder face. It really 
made my heart ache to look at him. I thought 
he would have been here this evening, for he 
sent yesterday to ask when you were coming.” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


“ ‘ \ yj INGLE threads of joy and woe/ ” and 
!▼ J. Reginald Neville summoned all his 
resolution as he lifted the latch of the garden 
gate and walked up to the Rectory door, where 
Sir Robert and Mr. Denbigh sat talking in the 
dim evening light. 

Where is the child ? he a^ked, presently, 
turning to the former. 

^‘Asleep, I hope,’’ was the reply. Would 
you like to see him ?” 

‘‘Well, I think I should, if you don’t mind. 
Sir Robert. Any certainty will be a relief, and 
I could not be more miserable than I am.” 

Wilfred lay fast asleep, his lips slightly 
parted ; one arm thrown over his head rested 
on the pillow, and the hand of the other 
loosely grasped the miniature round his neck. 
From the foot of the bed Reginald stood 
watching him, trying to trace some likeness to 
the cousin he had not seen for more than 

eleven years. 

(148) 


WILFRED. 


149 


I can’t tell very well in this dim light/’ he 
whispered, at length. ‘‘ I wonder if I could see 
the miniature without waking him ? ” 

Sir Robert gently tried to loosen his hold, 
but he turned uneasily and murmured some- 
thing in French, of which maman'' only was 
intelligible. 

Poor little chap ! ” and bending down till 
his dark locks touched the fair head, Reginald 
turned the medallion toward the candle which 
Sir Robert held. One glance sufficed. 

It is poor Cavendish,” he said quietly, then 
folded his arms, and stood looking down at the 
little sleeper. He was very pale, and his brows 
were contracted by pain. Lord Lindisfarne 
must know of this as soon as possible. Sir Rob- 
ert,” he added as they turned to leave the room. 

You and Mr. Denbigh must decide as to the 
best way to bring it about. He is very feeble, 
you know, and the doctor has warned me to 
guard against any shock or undue excitement, 
which you must bear in mind. I can’t help 
you ; I don’t seem to be able to think, it is all 
so miserable ! I would go away to-night and 
never come back, rather than stem the tide of 
suspicion which I know I must meet, but it 


150 


WILFRED. 


would look like cowardice, and as if I had some^ 
thing to conceal. Thank God, my conscience 
is clear, and that is my one comfort ; and if 
cousin Edward will only believe that, it will be 
all I ask. As for anything else, I am young and 
strong and can help myself,’' and he turned at 
the door to bid good-night. 

“Shall I see you to-morrow at church?” 
asked Mr. Denbigh, laying his hand kindly on 
his shoulder. “ We are going to have Warren’s 
‘ Te Deum you always enjoy that, I think?” 

“Yes, thanks. I daresay I will come. Good- 
night,” and he shook hands with both, and went 
sadly away in the darkness. 

“ Madeline ! Madeline ! ” he moaned in an 
outburst of grief, as, blinded by tears, he paused 
in the lane, and leaned against a gnarled old oak, 
under whose spreading branches he had often 
and often waited to join the sisters in walk or 
ride. Before the world he must be a man, calm 
and unmoved ; but here, under the shadow of 
darkness, he may let his grief have full sway 
and shed the tears which are scorching and blis- 
tering his heart. 

“ Thank God, I have not yet asked her to be 
my wife — not asked her to share a fate from 


WILFRED. 


ISI 

which her tender nature might shrink ! I must 
go to work now and make my own future. Per- 
haps the Earl will use his influence, at least, to 
get me some appointment, but at any rate I 
will do something. In a little while I shall be 
far away, and Madeline may forget me. Per- 
haps when I come back a gray-haired man, I 
shall find her married, and only remembering 
me as some one connected with her youthful 
days ! ” Then, striking his hands angrily to- 
gether, as if to crush out a thought so intoler- 
able, Fool that I am ! What does it matter 
whether I have asked her to marry me or not ? 
What are mere words, when I know that she 
loves me, as I know that there is a heaven above 
us — know that she loves me, and is watching for 
me, and wondering why I do not come ? And 
yet, how can I go to her? It would only make 
the parting more bitter for us both ! 


CHAPTER XIX. 


HERE was a little stir of excitement 



^ among those standing around St. Mary’s 
church waiting for the hour of service. Some- 
thing unusual had happened. The coroneted 
carriage of the Earl, with its sleek horses and 
liveried servants, had drawn up to the door of 
the church, and from it had stepped the old 
man, and, leaning on Reginald’s arm, he had 
gone up the aisle to the old square pew beside 
the chanceir 

Mr. Denbigh, following the choristers as they 
filed in, noted his unusual presence, and with 
an effort brought back his thoughts as he be- 
gan : The Lord is in His holy temple ; let all 
the earth keep silence before Him.” 

Sir Robert, with his open prayer-book, looked 
from the old man with his silver hair, and clear- 
cut Patrician features, to the young man beside 
him, and wondered if he had told him anything, 
or by what strange coincidence he had chanced 
o come to St. Mary’s on that of all days. 


(152) 


WILFRED. 


153 


Mr. Lauriston, unconscious of any coinci- 
dence in Lord Lindisfarne’s being in his proper 
place, instead of at the Dissenting Chapel, was 
much gratified at the success of his invitation. 

Reginald had been greatly surprised and al- 
most aghast that Sunday morning, when, as he 
left the library on his way to church, the Earl 
called to him to wait, as he thought of going 
himself to St. Mary’s to hear the new chorister, 
and had ordered the carriage. 

I don’t approve of choir-boys and altar- 
cloths and processions in church, as every one 
knows,” he added, but Lauriston tells me this 
new boy has a fine voice, and I confess it will 
be a pleasure to hear some good singing, after 
that weak-eyed young man, who raises the 
hymns with a tuning-fork, down at Alvey.” 

Now Reginald had intended walking across 
the park as usual, to church, and sitting near 
the door, from whence he could make his escape 
as soon as the service was over. Instead, he 
was obliged to drive round by the turnpike, 
and to sit in the Lindisfarne pew, which was 
near the Lauristons’, and, moreover, just oppo- 
site the stall where Wilfred took his place, as 
the white-robed procession entered the choir. 


154 


WILFRED. 


The boy knelt reverently, making the sign of 
the cross, after the manner in which he had 
been taught by inaman^ and which, therefore, 
no expostulation on the part of Mrs. Green had 
ever persuaded him to neglect. As he rose 
from his knees, the light, shining through the 
east window, fell full on his face, and Reginald 
almost trembled for the old man beside him, as 
he saw how exactly the child resembled his 
father. He wondered if Mrs. Stratton and Jen- 
kyns could see, and would be struck by it, from 
their place in the servants’ pew, and glanced 
round at his cousin. But Lord Lindisfarne was 
slowly turning the leaves of his big book. Nev- 
ertheless, he had noticed Wilfred’s silent gest- 
ure, and was more than ever persuaded that 
Mr. Denbigh was making papists of the entire 
parish, and resolved anew that he, at least, would 
not countenance such proceedings — no, not if 
he never heard any good church music ! 

The service went on, and the Rector grew 
nervous, and thought he would have given any- 
thing to have had Wilfred on the other side of 
the choir, out of the Earl’s sight, since he had 
arranged that during the offertory he should 
sing, Flee as a bird,” which he had sung for 


WILFRED 


155 


him that morning. The alms-basins had been 
distributed — Let your light so shine before 
men that they may see your good works and 
glorify your Father which is in heaven’' — and 
up rises the little surpliced figure, glances half- 
appealingly at Mr. Denbigh, and then up at the 
angels of Jacob’s dream, in the memorial window 
opposite, and his fears depart. All through the 
service he has been wondering whether mamait^ 
and papa, and Winnie, went up shining stairs, 
like those, to heaven, and now, in spirit, he, too, 
climbs the golden heights, up to his beloved, 
and forgetful of all beside, as once before, fills 
the church with exquisite melody. 

Flee as a bird to the mountain,” and tears 
spring to many eyes as the flute-like notes are 
warbled forth. With clasped hands, and an ex- 
pression almost of rapture on the beautiful child- 
face, he stands wholly unconscious of the many 
eager eyes bent on him, and at the end sits 
down, without even a glance round him, but 
leans forward for an instant to put a bright shil- 
ling into the alms-bowl, which Mr. Denbigh 
holds toward him, it having passed him while 
singing. 

Reginald looks toward Madeline for the first 


156 


WLLFRED. 


time, and he fancies her eyes are full of tears. 
And what of the old man beside him? From 
the moment that Wilfred began, his glance has 
not wandered from the boy’s face. He pays no 
further heed to what is passing around him, but 
all through the sermon sits motionless in one 
corner of the pew. Memory has gone back to 
long years before, when his own child was left 
a little motherless lad — ^just such a little lad as 
that, only rosy and strong. He could sing too, 
and he had been proud of his voice, and had 
often sent for him to the dining-room, to let his 
guests see that what he told them was no mere 
boast. Yes, Cavendish had just such eyes as 
those — blue as violets — and wavy golden locks ; 
and that same trick of clasping his hands when 
he sang. It was strange, but he almost thought 
he must have seen this little lad somewhere be- 
fore. He would ask Reginald when they went 
home. Then his thoughts reverted to his own 
boy — to how, when he ceased to be a child, in 
his anxiety, he had perhaps overshot the mark, 
and mounted too strict guard over the restive 
young life. He had been severe where he should 
have been lenient ; harsh where he should have 
been just ; till holidays at home grew to be a 


WILFRED. 


157 


penance to the gay, joyous nature. He had not 
been considerate enough of the animal spirits, 
which interfered with the quiet, studious habits 
that he loved, and disturbed the even tenor of 
his life, and so, in time, Cavendish had been 
driven to seek companions and amusements else- 
where, since he had neither at home. 

It had not been want of affection, but lack of 
consideration, which had first placed a barrier 
between them, and a want of justice, which had 
led the father to decide the fate of his own son, 
under the influence of a man whose object in 
promoting their estrangement he had too late 
suspected. Nothing but sympathy and affection 
for Reginald induced him to allow Captain Ne- 
ville to enter his doors, so painful had associa- 
tions with him become. 

But he had seen it all when too late. Whoso 
soweth to the wind, shall reap to the whirl- 
wind.’' Oh, was there no way of escape from 
his own thoughts — no rest from the gnawing 
pain of endless regret? He had come to St. 
Mary’s ostensibly to hear the music, but with a 
vague hope that peace might come to his weary 
heart, through the words of the mother church 
and, instead, all the bitterness of the grief 


158 


WILFRED. 


which was consuming him had come back in a 
flood-tide of renewed anguish at sight of the 
boy so like his own. 

Reginald thought he heard something like a 
groan, but the sound was lost in the loud 
'^Amen,'' as Mr. Denbigh pronounced the 
benediction. 

‘'A beautiful voice, wasn’t it?” and Mr. 
Lauriston leaned over to speak to the Earl, 
but the old man seemed not to hear. He was 
leaning forward, gazing with a strange, eager 
look on his face, toward the door by which 
clergyman and choristers had disappeared. 

Reginald answered in his place ; then, as the 
congregation dispersed — Shall we go now, 
cousin Edward?” he asked, gently, and taking 
the proffered arm, the old man walked slowly 
to his carriage. 

Home,” and the footman sprang into his 
place, and the groups of country folk waiting 
to chat with their neighbors, and to admire the 
elegant equipage, stepped aside to let them 
pass. In the lane they overtook Lady Mar- 
garet in the pony phaeton, driven by Geoffrey, 
but Reginald caught a glimpse of the rest of 


WILFRED. 


159 


the Lauriston party crossing the fields, and, 
with them, Sir Robert and Wilfred. 

Reginald, did you ever see that little lad 
before ? 

I saw him at the Rectory last night. He 
is stopping there with Sir Robert Elliott, Mr. 
Lauriston's friend, you know.” 

‘Wes, I know him by reputation ; but did I 
ever see that child before, do you think ” 

“No, sir; I am sure not,” replied Reginald 
in a low voice. 

“Strange, strange,” he muttered to himself, 
and they drove on in silence. 

“ Reginald,” and his voice sank almost to a 
whisper, “ does that little lad remind you of 
any one you have seen before — any one that 
you used to know ? ” 

“ Cousin Edward,” and the drops stood out 
on the broad white forehead, “ I think he is as 
much like Cavendish as his own son could be.” 

“ That’s it ! that’s it ! ” he cried, excitedly ; 
and, in his agitation, shook like an aspen-leaf. 
“He is just about the age my grandson would 
have been,” and he buried his face in his hands. 

One moment, in which to implore help from 
heaven, and Reginald spoke : 


i6o 


WILFRED. 


‘‘Cousin Edward, a great wrong has been 
done you. You and I have both been cruelly 
deceived. Cavendish’s wife is dead, but not his 
son ! I have only known it certainly since last 
night, but that little boy is surely Cavendish’s 
child.” 

“ Great God ! What can you mean ? Do 
you know what you are saying? Reginald, 
Reginald, speak, for the love of God, and tell 
me what you mean ! ” and the Earl seized his 
arm in his quivering grasp and held it as in a vise. 

“ I mean, cousin Edward, that what we heard 
was false — that it was a lie told to deceive us 
both, and that Cavendish’s child was discovered 
in London by Sir Robert Elliott ! He brought 
him here to see if he could prove his identity, 
and that little chorister is named Wilfred Ver- 
non Ferrars, and is your grandson, come to re- 
joice your sad heart and to cheer your lonely 
life*!” 

With a wild look in his eyes, the Earl sat lis- 
tening without seeming to understand, then 
suddenly his head fell forward on his breast. 
Inexpressibly alarmed, Reginald caught him in 
his aims, as the carriage stopped at the Hall 
door. 


WILFRED. 


i6i 


Quick, Rogers! call Jenkyns, and help me 
carry him in ; your master has fainted. And 
you, Mason, drive back co the Lodge and stop 
Doctor Gray; we passed him on the road, you 
know/' 

Tenderly they bore their unconscious burden 
into the library and laid him on a couch, and 
Reginald was kneeling beside him with a restor- 
ative when Dr. Gray arrived. 

‘‘A fainting fit, caused by over-fatigue and 
excitement ; pulse weak and rapid ; will soon 
come to, but must be kept perfectly quiet. 
No excitement of any kind, Mr. Neville, of any 
kind whatever,” and the doctor placed a. spoon 
containing a few drops of liquid to the colorless 
lips. 

Mrs. Stratton, just arrived from church, was 
met by one of the frightened servants, with the 
tidings that master was dying, and throwing her 
best bonnet and shawl to one of the maids as 
she ran, arrived, panting and pale as a ghost, at 
her master s side, just as a tremulous sigh, and a 
quiver of the closed eyelids, showed returning 
consciousness. 

I feared as much,” she whispered, turning to 
Reginald ; “ and oh, my dear 1 did you see the 


II 


102 


WILFRED. 


little boy from London ? He was my dear boy’s 
very image ! I knew master couldn’t help but 
see him, and I told Jenkyns how it would be if 
he had ! We hurried home as fast as we could 
— there, he’s coming ’round — you’re better now, 
my lord ? ” and she stood aside respectfully. 
Stratton never forgot her master’s title before 
others ; it was only among themselves that she 
called him by the more familiar appellation of 
master. 

You’ve had a fainting fit from over-exertion, 
sir,” said the doctor, bustling in from the hall 
door, where he had gone to speak to his man. 
^^You shouldn’t have gone out to-day, it was 
much too warm ; and that long service too ; I’m 
not at all surprised at the result — not at all sur- 
prised. However, you will be all right now, if 
Mr. Neville will engage that you shall be kept 
perfectly quiet. I think I may leave now, as 
there is an urgent message for me to go to Farn- 
ham Grange,” and the voluble doctor bowed 
himself off. 

Thank you, Stratton, that will do.” It was 
the first time Lord Lindisfarne had spoken, and 
with a wistful glance behind, she left the room. 

Reginald, what was it you were telling me 


WILFRED. 


163 


about that little lad ? Such a roaring sounded 
in my ears, I couldn’t hear, but I thought — it 
seemed to me — you were telling me my grand- 
son had been found,” and, in his great agitation, 
Reginald thought he was going to faint again/ 

Did you tell me that, or is it only another of 
the dreams which haunt this poor, worn-out 
brain of mine ?” 

‘‘No, cousin Edward, it is not a dream, but 
a glad reality. Shall I send and let Sir Robert 
know you would like to see him?” 

“Send? I will go myself! I can’t wait! 
Tell Mason to bring round the carriage at once. 
O God ! how can I thank Thee for this great 
mercy ! My grandson ! My Cavendish’s child ! 
Stratton ! where’s Stratton ? She loved him 
like her own ; and Jenkyns ; and you, Reginald, 
you loved him too. If I had gone by you, my 
boy, oh, the anguish I might have been spared ! ” 
And tears rolled down the furrowed cheeks. 
He stood up to go, but turned giddy and faint, 
and was forced to lie still ; while Reginald, anx- 
ious that his feverish excitement should be 
calmed as soon as possible, hastily summoned 
Mrs. Stratton, and leaving her to learn the truth 
from her master, ordered the carriage to follow 


164 


WILFRED. 


him to the Rectory, and strode off by the short 
cut through the park. 

His cousin’s words had been an intense relief. 
Perhaps he would feel differently toward him 
after he realized the part his father had played ; 
still, in the turmoil of his mind, he was con- 
scious of a lifting of the burden which had been 
crushing him to the earth ; and it was with a 
thrill of absolute joy that he heard from the 
Rectory servant that Sir Robert had gone with 
her master, and the young gentleman from Lon- 
don, to dine at Lauriston Hall. 


CHAPTER XX. 



ILFRED had been considerably dis- 


^ ^ mayed when, in their walk to the Hall, 
they had overtaken the nursery party, under the 
charge of Miss Browning, and, but for his innate 
politeness, would have been tempted to run 
away, when he found himself with one of the 
twins on either side. As it was, he compared 
their society most unfavorably with that of Fuss 
and Buss, and, moreover, felt his knowledge of 
English put to a severe test, when Lena, from 
behind, called out to ask him if he could sing 
Auld Wobin Gway'’? 

He was longing to repossess himself of Sir 
Robert’s hand, and cast wistful glances at him 
as he walked on before with Mr. Lauriston. 
But a fresh demand was made on his attention 
by little Nancy : 

Has you dot any wabbits, betause we has?” 
^^Yes, we has dot free, and dey has pint eyes 
and little white teef,” added Alice. Has you 


(165) 


WILFRED. 


1 66 

dot none? for we will dive you one of we’s, if 
you hasn’t.” 

I do not know what it is that you would 
Bay,” answered Wilfred, perplexed. 

Why, wabbits,” exclaimed both little girls 
together, don’t they have wabbits in London ? ” 

They mean rabbits, my dear — des lapins ^' — 
said Miss Browning, overhearing them, and 
catching a glimpse of Wilfred’s puzzled face. 

Merci, Madame,” then to the children — 
“Will you show me them, these little rabbits?” 

“Yes, we will, and all the dogs, and Shag.” 

“ You’ll be sure to like Shag,” chimed in Lena, 
“ and you shall wide him whenever it is my turn.” 

“ Is it that ‘ Shag ’ is your pony ? ” questioned 
Wilfred, with newly-awakened interest. 

“ Yes, and we tall him Shag, betause he won’t 
ever let his hair be bwushed,” shouted Alice 
gleefully. 

And so they chatted on, and by the time they 
reached home, they had grown so intimate as 
to take Wilfred at once up to the nurseries to 
see Lena’s bulfinch, and Edith, and the baby. 
Then discovering that he had not yet seen 
mamma, they straightway conducted him to 
her dressing-room, where she was resting on the 


WILFRED. 


167 


sofa. It was the first time the boy had been 
brought in contact with a lady, since his moth- 
er’s death, and he never forgot his first impres- 
sion of Lady Margaret. He thought she looked 
like mamariy' and when she held out her hand 
with a smile of welcome, he surprised her by 
raising it almost reverently to his lips. 

“ Have you been showing your treasures to 
, what is your name, my dear? ” 

Wilfred, Madame.” 

Have you seen the bird, and the rocking- 
horses? ” 

‘^Yes, Madame.” 

'‘And the most precious plaything of all — ■ 
Baby?” 

"Yes, Madame.” 

" I must thank you for the pleasure you gave 
me this morning, my child. That hymn was so 
beautiful, I was sorry when it ended.” 

" Thanks, Madame. I will sing for you when- 
ever it shall please you.” 

" Come on, Wilfred, and see Shag,” said Lena, 
impatient to get out of doors. 

" Tome on,” echoed the twins. 

Au revoir, Madame,” and with a lingering 
look behind, as if the sight of Lady Margaret 


WILFRED. 


1 68 

was something precious which he feared to lose, 
he went with the little girls. 

‘‘ Why is it that you leave your marnan if you 
may stay?’' he asked of Lena, remembering 
how loth he had always been, to leave his moth- 
er's side, even for the short daily walk, on which 
she had insisted, and wondering vaguely how 
these children would feel, if their maman had 
gone to heaven. 

As it was, his question filled Lena with as- 
tonishment, and she confided her opinion of 
Wilfred, to her father that evening, as being a 
stwange boy, but a wegular bwick " — an ex- 
pression borrowed from Geoffrey's vocabulary, 
which caused Miss Browning to remonstrate with 
the young Etonian, on the inadvisability of talk- 
ing slang before his little sisters. 

Isn't he a beauty? " questioned the children 
as they each held out a bunch of fragrant clover 
blossoms, gathered on the way, to Shag’s long- 
ing lips. 

^^We can’t have a wide to-day because it’s 
Sunday; but to-morrow, if Sir Wobert will let 
you come, you shall have my turn, and go all 
wound the park,” said Lena. 


WILFRED. 


169 


‘‘You are very kind, Mademoiselle — I will 
pray Monsieur to permit me to come/’ 

“ Why, Fm not Mademoiselle ! I’m Lena. 
Mademoiselle does not live here now. Monsieur 
Dupuy comes from Tiverton for our French les- 
sons,” said the little maid, opening wide her 
brown eyes. 

“ Is it then, that I shall call you Lena?” 

“ Why, of course ! What a funny boy you 
are, Wilfred. There’s Betty coming for us now. 
We’ll have to go in.” 

Betty’s message proved to be, that Sir Robert 
wished to speak to the young gentleman, and, 
on reaching the house, he met them and drew 
Wilfred into the library and closed the door. 
The little girls, espying Reginald in the draw- 
ing-room, rushed in to embrace him, with vehe- 
ment expressions of delight. 

“Well, Wilfred, I haven’t seen anything of 
you to-day,” and Sir Robert sat down on the 
sofa and made room for the boy beside him. 

“ I have been to see the pony. Monsieur, and 
he ate flowers from the hands of those little 
girls, and they have promised to me to ride on 
him to-morrow, if you will please. Might I 
come, Monsieur?” and he looked up eagerly. 


I/O 


WILFI{ ED 


Certainly, my child, I don't doubt you can ; 
and you know you are to have a pony of your 
own, and then you can all ride together." 

Oh, Monsieur, you are too good," said the 
boy. 

Wilfred, do you remember a talk we had on 
the train coming here? " 

‘‘About the gipsies. Monsieur?" 

“ No, not about the gipsies — about an old 
gentleman who had lost his son in India, and — " 
“You mean that old man who had remorse, 
Monsieur? I remember, but oh! Monsieur, is it 
that I will see him here ?" and the eager, happy 
smile vanished, and he was on the verge of tears. 

“ Wilfred," and Sir Robert drew him closer, 
“ did you see an old gentleman with white hair 
sitting before you in church, to-day?" 

“ I do not remember to have seen him. Mon- 
sieur." 

“ Well, he sat there and watched you, and 
you looked so like his son who died, that he 
buried his face in his hands and groaned, and 
while he was driving home he asked his cousin, 
who lives with him, about you; and, when he 
told him he thought you were his little grand- 
son, the poor old man fainted, just as your 


WILFRED. 


171 


mamma did when she received the letter tell- 
ing her your papa had died. As soon as he 
opened his eyes he asked for you, and tried to 
come himself to seek you, but he was too ill, 
and so he sent your cousin Reginald, who loved 
your papa very dearly, to fetch you. Will you 
go to him, Wilfred?’’ 

“ Oh, Monsieur, do not say to leave you ! 
He does not love me, this old man ; and he 
was cruel to ‘ inaman ’ and papa ! He will not 
love me ever ! ” and, throwing his arms around 
Sir Robert’s neck, he burst into a passion of 
tears. 

Listen, my child ; don’t you know we all do 
what is wrong? And yet, God has promised to 
forgive us, if only we are sorry. We read in 
the Bible that ‘ the sacrifices of God are a 
broken spirit ; ’ and that means a heart which 
is grieved for its sins ; and, if you will read 
over those sentences at the beginning of the 
morning service, you will see how very merci- 
ful God is. Yet, he has much more to forgive 
than you or I can ever have, dear child. If 
your poor old grandfather has sinned and is 
sorry, don’t you think God will forgive him ?” 

'^Yes, Monsieur.” 


1/2 


WILFRED. 


*^Aiid, don’t you think your own mamma 
would want her dear little boy to do what is 
right? You know, Wilfred, she came to En- 
gland to take you to your grandfather.” 

He had touched the right chord — the mother 
being dead, yet speaketh ” to the heart of her 
orphan child. 

Drying his eyes, he makes an heroic effort to 
keep back the sobs, and, slipping his hand in 
Sir Robert’s, asks : 

Is it that we shall go now. Monsieur ; and 
will you come, too ? ” and this last so implor- 
ingly, that Sir Robert could but grant the re- 
quest ; though he questioned whether this was 
a time when the presence of a stranger would 
be advisable. 

Explaining to Reginald in a few words just 
how matters stood, they entered the carriage 
waiting at the door and drove off, to Mr. Lau- 
riston’s surprise, and much to the chagrin of 
the children. 

It was only a short drive to the Towers, and 
Wilfred, after giving his hand, when desired, 
to his cousin, sat silently looking out of the 
window. His lips were pressed together, and 
Sir Robert noticed that he kept one hand in- 


WILFRED. 


173 


side his blouse, and knew that he was holding 
tightly to the miniature around his neck. He 
had been carefully dressed by James in a suit 
of creamy white flannel, with scarlet silk stock- 
ings, and a Roman ribbon tied under the broad 
linen collar, and he looked every inch the grand- 
son of an Earl. So thought Reginald, as he 
watched him, and wished he would turn and 
look at him again with those great, dreamy 
blue eyes, like Cavendish's, but Sir Robert care- 
fully avoided noticing him. He knew the great 
conflict going on in his mind, and wished to give 
him time to school himself to meet what he 
knew was a terrible ordeal. 

Reginald sprang out, as the carriage drew up 
to the door, and helped Sir Robert out, then 
turned, and taking Wilfred's hand, led him 
straight up to the Earl, who, leaning on Jen- 
kyns' arm, stood waiting in the door-way. 

My boy ! my own ! my own ! " and Wilfred 
found himself folded in his grandfather's arms, 
and strained to his heart with a passionate ten- 
derness, for which he was entirely unprepared. 

Sir Robert had disappeared behind one of the 
marble pillars, and was wiping away the tears 
which sprang to his eyes. “You had best sit 


174 


WILFRED, 


down now, my lord,*’ and Jenkyns moved for- 
ward to assist him. 

“One moment, Jenkyns; here, Stratton’* — 
and the Earl gave one of Wilfred’s hands to 
each of the faithful old retainers. “ These were 
your father’s oldest friends, my own one then, 
regaining one of the little hands, he let Regi- 
nald lead him back to the couch in the library. 

“ Wilfred, will you forgive me, and try to love 
your poor old grandfather ? ” he asked in eager, 
trembling tones, and Reginald almost dreaded 
the answer. 

“Yes, mon grand-perey I will love you,” said 
the boy. Very different was this feeble old 
man, speaking to him such loving words, from 
the cruel croque-initaine of his fancy ! Some- 
thing about him seemed to awaken a feeling of 
sympathy in Wilfred’s heart, for, all unbidden, 
he put one arm ’round his grandfather’s neck 
as he reclined on the sofa. 

“ I shall have two sons to take care of me 
now,” said the Earl, and he looked gratefully 
up at Reginald, as he arranged his cushions. 
‘You will love him for my sake, won’t you, 
Reginald ?” 

“You know I will, cousin Edward,” said the 


WILFRED. 


175 


young man, and laid his hand caressingly on the 
curly head. 

That’s right, my boy. You’ve been a dear 
child to me, Reginald, and God will bless you.” 

Had he heard aright ? Surely never had 
words so fraught with gratification fallen on list- 
ening ears before ! 

But the Earl must know all. 

Cousin Edward, will you still say that to 
me when you hear that father knew — ” 

Lord Lindisfarne silenced him by a gesture. 

Reginald, I guess all ; but I have long since 
taken you to my empty heart, and no act of 
another shall ever cancel my love and trust 
in you.” 

The young man could not speak, as he raised 
his cousin’s hand to his lips, and then walked 
toward the window. Wilfred, looking on, won- 
dered what it all meant ; then suddenly remem- 
bering Sir Robert, turned to his grandfather : 

Mo7t graiid-pene., where is Monsieur gone?” 

Sir Robert Elliott, I had quite forgotten 
and Reginald hurried out to offer apologies, in 
no way needed, and to conduct him to the 
Earl. 

There was no introduction necessary. Regi- 


WILFRED. 


176 

nald placed a chair for him beside the couch, 
and very touching were the expressions of grat- 
itude poured forth by the old man. 

Seeing Wilfred looking much more cheerful 
than could have been expected, and knowing 
that the Earl needed rest after so much excite- 
ment, Sir Robert at length rose to go, promising 
to return in the evening. Wilfred followed him 
to the hall-door, and whispering to him not to 
forget to come back, stood looking wistfully after 
him, till recalled by his grandfather ; and on the 
way he was captured by Mrs. Stratton, who, 
kissing him again and again, assured him he was 
the very image of his papa ; and although he 
could not exactly compare her either to “ ma 
mie'" or mere Babette, he felt glad that ‘‘that 
nice old lady lived there. 

Fearing he would be dull, Reginald called in 
his black spaniel “ Gyp,’' with which he was 
greatly pleased, although remaining faithful to 
his first loves — Fuss and Buss — and hear- 
ing him tell of Shag, his grandfather immedi- 
ately asked Reginald to write to Tattersalls the 
next day, and have a well-trained pony sent 
down without delay. 


CHAPTER XXL 


CC OU need not ask Sir Robert about Regi- 



nald, mamma,” said Madeline, with a 
oeaming smile, ‘‘for he said he would come to 
ride with us to-morrow, and that the reason 
he had not been before was, that he had had 
some trouble. Something about his father, I 
suppose ; but he did not tell me, and I daresay 
it is all right now, for he looked just like him- 
self. Why do you suppose he came for Sir 
Robert and the little boy to go to the Towers ? ” 
“ I can’t tell, my dear,” replied her mother ; 
but we shall soon know, for here is Sir Robert 
now, coming up the terrace, but I don’t see that 
dear little Wilfred with him.” 

‘‘ Oh ! mamma, did you ever hear such a lovely 
voice ! Not weak, or too loud, as boys’ voices 
generally are, but just perfect. And such a 
little fellow too ; I could scarcely believe it was 
he who was singing.” 

“ Come, dear, we will go down now, for it is 
nearly time for dinner.” 


12 


( 177 ) 


1/8 


WILFRED. 


Mr. Lauriston met them at the Library door 
evidently quite excited. 

My love, there is wonderful news — most as^ 
tonishing, indeed ! ” 

“ Yes? good or bad ? ” inquired her ladyship, 
smiling. 

‘‘Altogether good, I trust. Lady Margaret,’* 
said Sir Robert. “ Something has occurred 
which has brought great happiness to your 
neighbor. Lord Lindisfarne.” 

“ Then I am truly glad, for I often think of 
that old man, and wish he would let us try to add 
something to the happiness of his lonely life.” 

“What is it. Sir Robert? ” asked Maude, with 
a praiseworthy desire to relieve Madeline, who 
had first flushed red, and then turned pale, and 
looked ready to faint. 

“Yes,” said her mother, “we are all in sus- 
pense.” 

“The news, Lady Margeret, is, that Wilfred 
is the grandson of the Earl, who recognized him 
to-day in church, by his likeness to his father, 
and sent for him immediately.” 

“ Oh ! how glad I am ! But I always thought 
Lord Lindisfarne’s grandson died long ago,’ 
said Lady Margaret, beyond measure astonished. 


WILFRED 


179 


‘‘ So did every one,” said Mr. Lauriston, “ the 
Earl included, until to-day.” 

Do tell us all about it, Sir Robert,” said 
Madeline ; and then he told them, in a few words, 
of the meeting between the child and his grand- 
father, and the tenderness and feeling shown 
toward both, by that noble young fellow, 
Neville.” He didn’t seem to have a thought 
of self, and, I verily believe, is as much rejoiced 
as if it made no real difference to him ” — a 
speech which made Madeline his fast friend 
forever. 

“That’s just like Reginald,” said Mr. Lauris- 
ton, warmly, “he’s one of the finest young fel- 
lows I ever knew, and I hope he will get all 
that he deserves in this world,” and he glanced 
at Lady Margaret, with a sly twinkle in his eye, 
which her lad'/ship entirely ignored. 

“ Almost any one else would be in a terrible 
state, at the bare idea of having to resign all 
hope of such an inheritance as that, and his 
position too, as son of the house, but I’ll 
wager he’ll never be a whit less fond of the Earl 
than he has been, and will do a good part by 
that little chap too, or my name’s not Geoffrey 
Lauriston. Elliott, will you escort Lady Mar- 


WILFRED. 


I So 

garet ? Denbigh, Miss Browning will give you 
the pleasure” — and drawing Madeline's hand 
caressingly through his arm, they went in to 
dinnei , 

It was the custom at the Hall that the en- 
tire family should meet on Sunday, at an early 
dinner, and the severest punishment that could 
be inflicted, was banishment from this high fes- 
tival. It was something to be anticipated from 
week to week — this dining with papa and mam- 
ma, and a goodly sight it was. 

‘‘ I was glad to see you in the choir this 
morning, Geoffrey,” said Mr. Denbigh. 

“ Thanks, but Fm afraid I didn’t help much, 
sir; my voice is grown so husky, I’m expecting 
to be ‘struck off’ every Sunday, but I shall be 
very sorry, for it always feels like home some- 
how, to be doing as I did here, though, of course, 
they will be all right to stop me when they see 
fit. I wish you could hear some of those Eton 
fellows, Mr. Denbigh. One of them sings as 
well as that little fellow did to-day.” 

“You sha’n’t call him a fellow, Geoffwey, be- 
cause he’s my fwiend ; and he will be Lord Lin- 
disfarne some day, for Maude told me so ” — at 
which Maude looked disconcerted. 


WILFRED, 


i8i 


‘‘Charlotte Helena Lauriston, why is that lit- 
tle tongue of thine so indiscreet?'’ said Geoffrey, 
with a comical look at Maude, which brought 
out his likeness to his father. Mr. Denbigh 
took no notice, and asked Rosalie if she thought 
she could undertake to play on week-day after- 
noons, sometimes. 

“Lady Jane Graham tells me she has quite 
decided to go to her sister, at Michaelmas, and 
as our finances only justify us in having Sprague 
on Sundays, I don't know what I shall do, if 
you young ladies don’t lend a helping hand.” 

Rosalie’s face flushed with pleasure. 

“ Do you think I might?” she asked, peeping 
through the ferns and flowers, which always 
decorated the dinner-table at Lauriston, to 
appeal to Miss Browning. Music was Rosalie’s 
passion, and she played extremely well for her 
age. 

“Yes, my dear,” replied her governess, “1 
think you might, if you begin immediately to 
practice.'’ 

“ Then, if mamma says I may, I shall be de- 
lighted, Mr. Denbigh,’' said the little girl, 
much gratified. 

“ I think I may consider it settled, then,” 


I82 


WILFRED. 


said the clergyman ; and, as both your sisters 
have promised to help, and Miss Elsie Lauder- 
dale also, I think we will be able to have our 
service as usual/’ 

What was that I heard you saying of Lady 
Jane, Denbigh?” asked Mr. Lauriston from the 
foot of the table. 

“ It must be a relief to your mind. Sir Rob- 
ert, to know that your little protege is safe in 
his grandfather’s care at last,” Lady Margaret 
was saying. Then to Madeline, My love, at- 
tend to little Nancy ; she is spilling her rice.” 

My dear Lady Margaret, human nature is 
very strange, you know,” replied Sir Robert, 
with a smile. A few weeks ago I thought it 
would be much more unalloyed happiness, to 
restore Wilfred to his own people, than it has 
proved. Of course, I am most thankful, for both 
his sake and the Earl’s, but, for my own, I can’t 
tell you what a joy that child would have been 
to me. Wait till you have seen more of him, 
and you will agree with me, that he is one of 
the loveliest and most attractive children imag- 
inable. I had determined to adopt him myself, 
if I failed to find his grandfather, and I will 
confess it is a great disappointment.” 


WILFRED. 


183 


** I am afraid he will have rather a lonely life 
at the Towers/' said Lady Margaret. 

Well, he will probably not be conscious of 
it ; for the good woman who has had charge of 
him, has kept him entirely aloof from all com- 
panionship, and his only playmate was her lit- 
tle crippled girl, who died a few weeks ago,” 
said Sir Robert. 

I hope the Earl will let him come often to 
see the children. Lena seems quite to have 
adopted him, but I think he must be between 
Rosalie and Susie. Ten, did you say? Then 
he is younger than either,” said their mother*. 

If the children will speal< French with him 
it will teach them a great deal,” remarked Sir 
Robert. He has the purest accent, as you 
may have observed, even by the way he pro- 
nounces English.” 

‘'Yes, I noticed it. Who do you suppose his 
mother was?” asked Lady Margaret. 

“ There is a notice of the marriage in a little 
old Bible which Wilfred has. It took place at 
Dieppe, but his mother’s name has escaped me. 
There was a ‘ I remember, but no one could 
look at the boy without knowing at once that 
there was no plebeian blood in his veins. It puz- 


WILFRED, 


184 

zled me, at first, why she should have treasured 
up an English Bible, for she was a Romanist, 
and brought up her child as one ; but, looking 
it over afterward, I think her reason was, prob- 
ably, the notice of their marriage, and Wilfred’s 
birth — written, I suppose, by her husband, on 
the margin of one of the leaves.” 

It is just like a beautiful story, isn’t it, 
mamma?” said Maude; ^‘and I’m so glad it 
has had a happy ending,” she added, her feel- 
ings having lately been lacerated by reading 
Kenilworth.” 

Denbigh, suppose you and I walk over with 
Elliott,” said Mr. Lauriston a few hours later. 
“ We’ll leave a card, just to show the Earl that 
we sympathize with him,” and the three gen- 
tlemen went off together. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


TT TILFRED met Sir Robert at the door, 
^ ^ and was evidently overjoyed to see him. 

Monsieur, I am so content that you art 
come. Mon gra7td-pere is sleeping, and nion 
cousin is gone to make a visit to his friend, and 
‘ Gyp ’ will no longer play. Would you ask nion 
grand-pere to let me go with you this one night 
to see the little dogs, and to sleep?’' and he 
looked up beseechingly. 

Well, I’ll talk to him, and see if it would 
hurt his feelings to know you wish to leave him, 
Wilfred,” replied Sir Robert ; but, if it would, 
you will try to be willing to stay, won’t you ? I 
am coming for you in the morning, to take you 
to have your ride on the little Lauristons’ pony, 
or they will never forgive me.” 

Well, Monsieur, if M, mon grand-p'tre will 
have me stay, I will try and let him not see if 
it is triste,' was the reply ; but you will come 
early ? ” 

(185) 


WILFRED. 


1 86 

“ Just as early as I think you will have had 
breakfast, my boy,'' answered Sir Robert. 

I think one day I will love mon grand-pHe 
Monsieur," he whispered, as a servant came to 
ward the little room into which they had turned, 
to announce that his lordship had waked and was 
asking for little master, and invited Sir Robert 
into the library. 

The old gentleman was sitting in an arm-chair 
and seemed refreshed by his slumbers. He drew 
Wilfred caressingly to him, feared he had been 
lonely, and turning to his guest with tears, in his 
eyes, hoped he would be able to make the 
boy happy, and that he would not find it dull." 

Sir Robert looked at Wilfred, met his eager 
glance, and understood that he meant to absolve 
him from his promise. 

It was better that I should be triste than 
mon grand-pereP he said to him afterward. 

Sir Robert, will you think me very unrea- 
sonable when, after all you have done, I tell you 
that I have still a favor to ask at your hands?" 
asked the courtly old man. 

I shall be most happy to oblige you, Lord 
Lindisfarne, ' replied the baronet. 

“ Then will you make your excuses to your 


WILFRED. 


1 87 

other friends, and come and stay with us? It 
will be the greatest possible comfort to me. 
There is so much I would like to talk over, and 
consult with you about, and, indeed, it would 
take days and months and years to find words, 
poor as they are, to express my gratitude to 
you ! I need not tell you what happiness I 
know it will be to my grandson to have you 
with him. Reginald attends to all my affairs, 
and is out a great deal, and often absent from 
home on business, and I am afraid Wilfred will 
find his poor old grandfather but a dull com- 
panion’' — whereupon a slender hand tenderly 
stroked the furrowed cheek, in, mute protest, 
and a pair of blue eyes looked entreatingly at 
Sir Robert. There was no resisting such ap- 
peals, and Wilfred’s box having already been 
fetched. Sir Robert promised to send his man 
with his luggage next day, but decided to spend 
the night at the Rectory, in order to explain to 
Mr. Denbigh his sudden departure. 

The gentlemen talked together, and Wilfred 
sat listening, curled up on the sofa beside his 
grandfather, and presently, when the candles 
were lighted, and Jenkyns came in with biscuits 
and wine, he was discovered fast asleep. 


i88 


WILFRED. 


‘‘I think he had best go to bed, Lord Lindis- 
farne/’ said Sir Robert. “ It has been a trying 
day for him, and he is not very strong.’* 

Not very strong? I am grieved to hear you 
say that. Sir Robert. Don’t you think it is only 
from having lived in London ?” asked his grand- 
father, anxiously. ‘‘ Perhaps it would be well to 
take him up to see Sir Matthew Bates ? Or, if 
you think so, I will have him down here to look 
at him.” 

‘‘ I think myself it may be partly the result of 
London air,” replied Sir Robert. At all events, 
I would try the effect of riding on horseback, 
and of cheerful companionship — children of his 
own age, I mean.” 

Jenkyns ! ” 

Yes, my lord.” 

“Tell Stratton I want her.” 

Wilfred meantime ’roused, and when Mrs. 
Stratton appeared, was sitting upright, and, with 
half-closed eyes, declared himself quite awake. 
Guessing that some anxiety as to his sleeping 
arrangements might be troubling the child’s 
mind. Sir Robert asked permission to go up- 
stairs with him, and knew by the grateful press- 
ure of his hand that he had expressed his wishes. 


WILFI^ED. 


189 


The EarFs dressing-room had been prepaied for 
him by the housekeeper’s loving hands, and a 
night-lamp, illuminating the dial-plate of a small 
clock on the mantel-shelf, showed the dainty 
arrangements for the comfort of its young oc- 
cupant. 

Sir Robert stayed to see him comfortably in 
bed, and left him talking with good Mrs. Strat- 
ton of ma mie and 7n}re Babette. 

‘‘You have no reason to fear any special weak- 
ness for my grandson, Sir Robert ? ’’ questioned 
the Earl, on his return to the library. 

“ His nurses in London seemed to think his 
chest delicate ; but that is often the case with 
children, and there is nothing so good as a 
change of climate,” replied Sir Robert, anxious 
to reassure the poor old man. 

“ Do you know what Wilfred’s mother, my 
daughter-in-law, died of?” he asked in a low 
voice. 

“ I believe of a broken heart, from what the 
child has told me ; but at the hospital they 
called it consumption.” 

“ Hospital ! Did it come to that ? Sir Rob- 
ert, did my son’s wife die in a hospital?” and a 
look of horror came into his face. 


WILFRED. 


190 

Reginald wished to spare me/’ and he 
groaned. 

He spoke to me of a good woman who 
nursed her at the last, and cared for the child ; 
but I never dreamt she was brought so low as 
that ! My son ! my son ! ” he cried, and the 
utter anguish and hopelessness of the tone went 
to his companion’s heart. 

Yes, he could fancy what it must be to the 
proud, haughty nature of the man before him, 
as well as to the true heart, which beat under 
the once cold exterior, to learn that the wife of 
his own son — the mother of his grandson — had 
lived in want, and died the recipient of charity! 

Sir Robert ” — and the old man took his 
hand — You are a younger man than I, and may 
have much to forgive and to be forgiven, in this 
world, but don’t wait to grant, or seek for par- 
don, till death seals the lips whose forgiveness 
could alone give you peace 1 It is a terrible 
thing to see our mistakes when too late — a ter- 
rible thing ” — he added solemnly. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


^r^HE next morning, when, according to 
^ promise, Sir Robert went early to the 
Towers, he found Wilfred in a state of great 
excitement and delight, over two small puppies, 
one of which, he was to keep for his own. 
Reginald had gotten them from the coachman 
at Lauderdale, whither he had gone the evening 
before, to tell the news to his friend, and Max 
was so overjoyed to hear the Earl had behaved, 
^‘just as he knew he would,’’ that he instantly 
decided to return with him to offer his congrat- 
ulations to Lord Lindisfarne. They had taken 
turns in carrying the basket, wherein the tiny 
little creatures reposed on a bed of cotton-wool. 

One was a pug — the smallest of its kind ; the 
other, a genuine blue Skye, and Wilfred was 
sadly puzzled, how to decide between them. 

Would Monsieur tell him which to keep? 
Mon grand-pWe likes best the Skye, and man 

cousin^ and M. Max, the other.” He liked the 

(191) 


192 


WILFRED. 


Skye/' because it was like Fuss," and “ Buss,* 
but the pug was un si drdle de petit chienP 
and Wilfred laughed as he looked at the com- 
ical little head ; and hearing the unusual sound, 
and remembering how seldom he had ever heard 
it before. Sir Robert decided in favor of the pug. 

Then he rushed off to consult Stratton and 
Jenkyns, who both considered the Skye the 
best choice, the former for its mousing qualities, 
and the latter, because ^‘terriers were *ardier 
than pugs, and more heasy to raise." 

Ayes and noes were equal. 

Let’s toss up a shilling, Wilfred," said Max. 

Heads will be the pug, and tails the Skye ; 
here goes ! " but to the surprise of all four, the 
boy stopped him with a gesture — 

Merci^ Monsieur," he said gravely, while 
a delicate color suffused his cheek, but ‘ ma 
mie ’ has told me it was wrong to do that. She 
said it was — I can not think to tell you, but 
something that is mechantP — and he looked to 
Sir Robert to help him out. 

Perhaps she considered it a sort of gam 
bling — some persons do." 


WILFRED. 


193 


“ Cest ga, Monsieur, and many times I have 
seen them to fight, because of the pennies not 
falling as they would/* 

That’s right, my son. Never be afraid to 
stand up against what you think wrong,” said 
Lord Lindisfarne, as he drew the boy to him. 

‘^You are not vexed. Monsieur?” he asked, 
turning to Max, but I promised ‘ ma mie^' 
you know.” 

Why, certainly not,” said Max, good-humor- 
edly, ‘‘although I never heard there was any 
harm in tossing pennies.” 

Sir Robert, however, from long experience of 
London streets, and London street boys, better 
understood “ ma mie s ” teaching. 

“ I’ll tell you how you can settle it,” said 
Reginald, “ let the puppies decide themselves.’^ 

“ You are laughing, mon cousin/* said Wilfred, 
incredulously. 

“Not at all,” replied his cousin. “You go 
over there by the window and call them ; I’ll 
see that they start even, and the first to get to 
you, will be the one to stay.” 

“ Capital,” said Max, while Wilfred went to 


194 


WILFRED. 


the spot designated, and gave the signal. Both 
little creatures made a rush toward him, but 
the Skye slightly distanced his competitor, and 
with applause from the young men, was declared 
to have won. Immediately Wilfred's sympa- 
thies were with the pauvre petit who had been 
beaten in the race. 

Why can't he keep both?" asked his grand- 
father of Reginald. 

Because Phillips isn't willing to part with 
both, sir, and the pug he doesn't wish to let go 
at any price, as it is a remarkably fine specimen ; 
but I persuaded him to let me have one or 
the other. It seems to have been a bad plan, 
doesn’t it?" and he looked with laughing eyes 
at Wilfred, who was lavishing caresses on the 
pug, and thereby exciting the intensest jealousy 
on the part of the terrier. 

Couldn't you ride over after luncheon, and 
tell Phillips he will oblige me if he will let me 
have both dogs? Give him whatever he asks, 
you understand." 

Well, I expect under those persuasive cir- 
cumstances he will consent,’ said Reginald. 


WILFRED. 


195 


“ I say, Max, cousin Edward has given me 
carte-blanche to work on Phillips’ feelings.” 

^‘Then, let me assure you. Lord Lindisfarne, 
that the result is by no means doubtful. A 
sharp eye for business, has that mighty ‘jehu’ 
of ours ! ” laughed Max. 

Sir Robert,” said the Earl, I hope I did 
not disturb you by sending so early for your 
luggage ? Reginald will show you to your room, 
before you and Wilfred go out, so that you can 
direct your man how to arrange things to your 
liking.” 

Wilfred, with a small dog under each arm, 
went with them up the broad polished stairs 
which ascended from the middle of the hall. 
Dividing at the first landing, where the light 
streamed in through a window, gorgeous with 
painted glass, a shorter flight, on either side, led 
to the upper floor, where the bed-rooms opened 
on a wide gallery with a heavy, carved balus- 
trade. 

He was greatly pleased to find Sir Robert’s 
room opened into his; and while Sir Robert 
stood with Reginald, admiring the view from 
the windows, amused himself by running races 
around the gallery with his two pets. Even 


196 


WILFRED. 


the ride seemed to have lost its charm, but 
when Sir Robert announced himself ready, he 
ran to confide his treasures to the special care 
of one of the footmen — to whom he had taken 
a fancy — and then to Mrs. Stratton, to ask if 
she would let them have some milk by and by. 
The good woman smoothed the rumpled, curly 
locks, and re-tied his neck-ribbon, then caught 
him in her arms and kissed him, and, as he 
bounded off, returned to her household matters, 
with a sigh over his fragile looks and winsome 
ways. 

Wilfred found the pony enchanting. Sir 
Robert held the leading rein, and Lena ran be- 
side him, till, breathless and warm, she sat 
down to rest on a heap of new-mown hay, and 
Lady Margaret, from her window, smiled to see 
the tall, dignified man actually running to keep 
pace, as he /permitted “Shag” to break into a 
gentle gallop. 

They had a merry morning, but went back to 
the Towers to luncheon, as Lord Lindisfarne 
was going to drive, and wished Sir Robert and 
his grandson to go with him. 

“ Will you pray the coachman to let me keep 
both?” were Wilfred’s parting words, as his 


WILFRED. 


197 


cousin and Max mounted their horses and gal- 
loped away down the avenue. 

Wilfred sat on the front seat of the barouche 
A^ith a dog on either side to be alternately pet 
ted and admired. 

I wish ^ ma mie ’ and nCere Babette could 
see them,’’ he said to Sir Robert, wistfully. 

Suppose you write and tell them,” sug- 
gested Sir Robert. ‘‘ I am going to send them 
a letter this evening, to let them know how you 
are getting on, and I know it would please them 
to get one from you, too.” 

Then I will write. Monsieur, when we get 
home, if I may,” he answered, looking at his 
grandfather. 

Certainly, darling,” said Lord Lindisfarne ; 
and. Sir Robert, I want to consult with you as 
to the best means of testifying my gratitude to 
these good people for their care of my grand- 
son. I intend to settle an annuity on both, and 
should like you to give me some advice as to 
the amount. I have appointed Thursday for an 
interview with Mr. Tanning, my solicitor. I 
have several affairs to arrange with him, which 
will cost me some agitation, so I have taken a 
few days to gather strength beforehand.” 


£98 


WILFRED. 


Then, seeing Wilfred was bestowing undi- 
vided attention on his pets, he went on in a 
lower tone : 

I believe you know something, sir, of Cap* 
tain Neville — the unworthy father of my Reg- 
inald. He has done me a cruel wrong, as you 
know, but I could forgive him, as I hope to be 
forgiven,'’ and the old man reverently bared 
his head for an instant ; only I feel that the 
peace of those dearest to me will be more se- 
cure with him at a distance. At first I thought 
I would send for him, and upbraid him for his 
falsehood and baseness, but God has been so 
merciful to me, that it does not seem fitting 
that I should yield even to the just indignation, 
which fills my soul toward that hypocrite. Be- 
side, he is still Reginald’s father, and not for 
worlds would I add to his mortification, in hav- 
ing such a parent. But, as I have said, I feel it 
will be best for Reginald, and for my grandson, 
to have him out of the country. I shall, there- 
fore, request Mr. Banning to communicate with 
him, and will engage to pay him a certain sum 
annually, so long as he stays out of England. 
Any infringement of the agreement will cancel 
it, but, from what I know of him, I think my 


WILFRED. 


199 


offer will be accepted. Reginald, I consider, 
belongs entirely to me; and, although now he 
can not,, of course, be my heir, I shall be able 
to leave him handsomely provided for, and 
shall look to him, and to you, to watch over 
and advise my grandson after I am gone,’' and 
his lip quivered for an instant. I don’t think 
Reginald, dear boy, has any regret on the sub- 
ject, and I thank God for it, for it would have 
been a sad disappointment, I confess, to have 
found him wanting in sympathy in this great 
joy, which has come to me like a benediction 
from heaven — a benediction, sir, which I little 
expected, and feel that I only deserve, in so far 
as bitter repentance can atone for sins and 
shortcomings.” 

They had been slowly ascending a long hill, 
and now paused, as, on gaining the summit, an 
exquisite prospect lay before them, of green 
hills crowned with trees and dotted over with 
sheep and cattle, hedgerows making lines of 
darker green upon the slopes, while beyond lay 
the deep blue line of the everchanging sea. 

Perhaps it was this nearer view of the ocean, 
than he had had before, but something seemed 
to stir Wilfred’s soul to its depths ! 


200 


WILFRED. 


His grandfather, Sir Robert, his pets — hitherto 
so engrossing — were forgotten, as leaning against 
the side of the carriage, he rested his chin in 
one hand, while the other felt nervously for the 
miniature inside his blouse. The old, pathetic 
expression came stealing over his face, and into 
his eyes the far-off look, as if trying to sepa- 
rate the tangled skein of his recollections. 

‘‘ On that same sea he had gone in the boat 
with papa and maman — by that same sea, 
walked afterward with only marnan^ and talked 
of the happy days when papa would come home ! 
There it was still, with the sun flashing on the 
waves, just the same, and he left all alone ! ’’ 
Tears rushed to his eyes, and his lip quivered. 
Sir Robert expected an outburst of grief, but 
fortunately his grandfather saw nothing of it 
all, and gave the order to turn. 

This is considered one of the finest views in 
Devon, and I think one rarely sees a more beau- 
tiful combination of sea and land,” he remarked 
to Sir Robert. 

“ Wilfred, my son, are you tired ? ” asked the 
Earl, presently, noticing how quiet he had be- 
come. 

No, 77ton grand-pere^' answered the boy wea* 


WILFRED. 


201 


rily, without the trace of a smile on the sad 
little face. 

I wonder what news your cousin will bring 
about the dogs?” said Sir Robert, anxious to 
divert his thoughts from whatever was troubling 
him. 

‘‘ I can not tell, Monsieur,” he replied gravely, 
as he looked down at the little creatures, only 
half awake. It was a relief to Sir Robert, when 
on the road they overtook the Lauriston chil- 
dren, and Wilfred instantly brightened up. His 
grandfather proposed that he should stop and 
show them his treasures, and although he very 
carefully explained that both were not yet his, 
the children were filled with admiration, and 
evidently considered him much to be envied. 

Lena took the occasion to tell Wilfred that 
Susie wanted very much to hear him sing, as 
she had been ill on Sunday and absent frorn 
church. Would his grandfather let him come 
soon ? ” 

And receiving Lord Lindisfarne’s promise 
that he should, she jumped off the carriage- 
step, where she had been standing, and they 
drove on. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


G RANDPAPA” — and for the first time 
Wilfred used the more familiar title — as 
he came into the room where his grandfather 
sat alone, just before dinner. 

Come here, darling,” said Lord Lindisfarne, 
drawing the boy down to his usual place beside 
him. 

Grandpapa, did you love my papa very 
dearly ? ” 

God knows that I did, my child,” was the 
fervent answer. 

Then, grandpapa, would you like that I 
should show you his picture?” 

It was what the Earl had been longing for, 
but had not dared propose. 

“I would, indeed, my boy,” and as Wilfred 
gave it into his hands, he put on his glasses and 
went to the window. 

It is just as he looked, darling;” and as he 
wiped his eyes, Wilfred, for the first time, real- 
ized the nearness of the tie between them, and 
(202) 


WILFRED. 


203 


not all the gifts with which his grandfather 
loaded him, could ever have purchased the love, 
that he won by a tear which fell on the child’s 
hand as he took back his treasure. 

And now, my own one, I have something to 
give you., which I think may be very precious 
to you,” and going to his secretary, he took from 
a secret drawer the little packet forwarded to 
him from India soon after his son’s death, con- 
taining his watch and a miniature, which he 
supposed to be of his wife. “ Do you know who 
this is, Wilfred ?” 

Maman ! maman ! ” cried the boy, in a voice 
of mingled joy and anguish, covering it with 
kisses, pressing it to his heart, and looking at it 
with devouring eyes, by turns. In his excite- 
ment, forgetful of his English, he spoke rapidly 
in French, as he poured out his thanks, and 
throwing himself into his grandfather’s arms, 
embraced him rapturously. 

Oil r avez vous trouvi done., grandpapa ? ” 
he asked, when he could take breath. 

It was sent to me from India, Wilfred.” 

Et vous r avez garde pour mot! Que vous 


204 


WILFRED. 


etes bon!"' and he kissed him again and 
again. 

Monsieur ! Monsieur ! ” he called, as he heard 
Sir Robert’s footstep, '^^Depechez vous, voir ma- 
manP and for an instant the baronet thought 
he had parted with his senses. 

It was a lovely, girlish face, with large dark 
eyes, a rich brunette complexion, and a tender 
mouth — a purely aristocratic face in every deli- 
cate outline. No wonder the young officer had 
fallen in love with it at first sight, and married 
her, when, a few weeks after their accidental 
meeting at Dieppe, he heard that the sudden 
death of her father, the old Baron de Bea'uvais, 
had left her alone and penniless ! 

The miniatures had been painted during their 
honeymoon in Paris, and each had promised to 
wear that of the other as long as they lived ; and 
the vow so joyously made, had been solemnly 
kept, as we know, through all the sorrowful 
years to come. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


f^LL be even with her yet/’ Captain Neville 
" had sworn to himself, with an oath, as he 
tuw'ned out of Gordon’s Court on the evening of 
his last interview with nurse Brinton. Since 
then he had been much occupied, for his evil life 
w^as a busy one as well ; and his energies just 
then were being expended in trying to drain the 
pocl^et of an associate, who had lately been en- 
riched by a legacy. Now, however, at the end 
of a week, having been able to learn nothing 
further of the child of Captain Ferrars, he re- 
solved to return to Devonshire, and if ap- 
proached on the subject, assume a mask of pro- 
found innocence, and so brave out anything 
that might happen. 

Oddly enough, he chanced to arrive at the 
Towers on the very day when the Earl and Mr. 
Fanning were closeted together ! 

Wilfred, on his new pony, had ridden over 
with Sir Robert to the Rectory, and then on to 

Lauriston, to pass the rest of the morning; and 

(205) 


2o6 


WILFRED, 


Reginald, having resumed his old habits, was 
employing his time, while waiting to accompany 
che sistejs in their ride, by going with Mr. Laii- 
riston to admire some Polish fowl he had just 
succeeded in getting, after considerable trouble. 

So, when the Captain drove up, as usual in the 
fly, there was no one about, nor did the footman 
loitering in the hall think it worth while to 
inform this excessively unpopular visitor of the 
great event which had taken place in the family. 
The only remark he vouchsafed was, that Mr. 
Neville was hout, and that his lordship was in 
the library with Mr. Tanning, and had given 
borders on no account to be disturbed.’' 

“ Rather squally,” was the Captain’s reflec- 
tion, as he went unbidden up to the room he 
usually occupied ; but whether he referred to 
James’ manner or to the private interview be- 
tween Mr. Tanning and his client, or both, did 
not transpire. 

No sooner was he out of sight than James 
darted into the butler’s room to inform Jenkyns 
of the new arrival, which announcement was 
received with becoming dignity by the gray- 
haired major-domo ; but when the younger serv- 
ant had returned to his post in the hall, th^ 


WILFRED. 


207 


mild and irreproachable Jenkyns clenched his 
fist, and muttered something like ^‘scoundrel” 
between his teeth. 

Captain Neville meantime, having brushed off 
the dust, came down, and finding the Earl still 
engaged, strolled out into the gardens, and when 
the opening of the library door announced the 
conference at an end, the old butler entered, 
and giving Mr. Lanning an expressive look to 
follow him, told him at once of the unwelcome 
guest. 

Fearing the excitement for Lord Lindisfarne, 
Mr. Lanning dared not let him know, and de- 
cided on the instant, to follow the Captain, and 
if possible, persuade him to leave, without re- 
turning to the house. 

He overtook him, standing by the conserva- 
tory, watching one of the gardeners re-potting 
some rare Mexican plants, and drawing him a 
little to one side, plunged at once into the sub- 
ject in hand. 

He explained the new position of affairs, and 
stated Lord Lindisfarne’s proposition, but had 
come quite to the end of all he had to say, be- 
fore the Captain at all comprehended. The 
young heir found ! The Earl’s grandson restored 


2o8 


WILFRED. 


to him ! Here at the Towers ! Was he dream- 
ing, or was this old man mad ? 

He moved his hands nervously, as he looked 
at him standing before him ; but there was no 
madness in those keen blue eyes, fixed on him 
with an unflinching sternness, which he dared 
not meet. 

It is false ! he cried, rallying. Nothing 
but a lie from beginning to end, and this ^ heir,’ 
as you call him, is some beggarly brat, palmed 
off on that old dotard yonder.” 

This unseemly language is worse than use- 
less, Captain Neville, and quite thrown away 
beside,” replied Mr. Tanning, quietly. ^‘As 
you may perhaps be able to understand, it is a 
matter of no interest whatever, to the Earl of 
Lindisfarne, whether it suits your plans or not^ 
to deny his grandson’s identity. You will cer- 
tainly never be called upon to testify in court, 
as to your conclusions on the matter, unless, 
indeed, he should see fit to bring an action 
against you, for having known of the existence 
of this child, while swearing to his death.” 

A grayish hue crept over Captain Neville’s 
swarthy face. 

That’s not true. I did think he was dead 


WILFRED. 


209 


che priest in Boulogne told me so, and that’s all 
I knew about it till now,” and he looked up 
defiantly. 

Then, sir, why, may I ask, did you go to the 
London Hospital to seek for him three years 
ago? And again last spring? And one week ago 
to a house in a small court in London, to try to 
compel the person who first took charge of the 
boy to tell you of his whereabouts? Answer 
me that, if you can ? ” 

The Captain was fairly cornered. He knew 
then that the toils were tightening around him, 
and that this keen man of business was a match 
for him, with all his cunning. He shifted his 
position uneasily, and stood waiting to hear what 
was coming next, for he was connected with too 
many transactions which would not bear investi- 
gation, to feel easy before this man, who evi- 
dently knew more of him than he had suspected. 

Now, all that remains for you to do,” con- 
tinued Mr. Lanning, is to accede to the Earl’s 
conditions, and go either to America or to one 
of the Colonies, where a year will supply 

you with the necessaries of life.” 

And suppose I decline to do anything of 
the kind ? ” asked the Captain, sullenly. 

14 


210 


WILFRED. 


‘‘Just as you please,” rejoined the other, in- 
differently. “ If you prefer living about in 
fourth-rate lodging-houses, gambling and drink- 
ing in society you would have scorned before 
you left the army (the Captain winced) ; while 
those who once met you as an equal, go out of 
their way to avoid speaking ; wearing clothes you 
never mean to pay for; pursued by creditors 
wherever you turn ; often afraid to venture out, 
except under cover of darkness, lest you should 
find yourself arrested for debt, or worse ; im- 
perilling, by your very existence, the honor of 
your only son ; exposing him to slanderous sus- 
picions by your false statements ; dragging down 
your good old name till it becomes a by-word 
and a reproach — if such a life suits you, continue 
to live it.” 

“Thanks for the permission,” replied the 
Captain, insolently; but for all that, his cheek 
had paled before the picture, drawn in such true 
colors, and especially at the reference to Regi- 
nald. “ How am I to know this money will 
certainly be paid? ” 

“You MIGHT know it, on the word of a gen- 
tleman, sir,” said the solicitor haughtily, “ but 
of course we will give you a written agreement, 


^ WILFRED. 


2II 


and as soon as you decide your destination, you 
will please communicate with me/’ 

ril tell you now ; I shall go to New York/* 

“ Very well, then, the sum will be paid to you 
quarterly, through Baring Bros.” 

^^You seem to have had it all arranged be- 
forehand,” remarked Captain Neville, with a 
sneer, but Mr. Banning took no notice, and, 
seeing the dog-cart driving toward the house, 
proposed that he should at once go to the sta- 
tion to meet the up-train. 

The Captain consenting, rather to his sur- 
prise, he hurried off to the house to send his 
portmanteau in the carriage, and to tell the 
servant to stop for him at the end of the avenue. 
Reginald, coming home, saw the dog-cart driv- 
ing rapidly toward the station, but, concluding 
it had gone on some errand, thought no more 
about it, and did not know till weeks after of 
his father’s flying visit. He sailed a fortnight 
later from Liverpool, sending his son a few lines, 
written on the day of his departure, which Reg- 
inald read with contracted brow, and then, with 
a heavy sigh, he touched the letter with a 
lighted match, and watched it scorch and 
blacken on the hearth. If he had known it in 


212 


W. LFRED. 


time he would have gone to see him off ; as it 
was, it was too late ; and no doubt it was all 
for the best. 

Mon cousin, why is it you are triste?'' 
asked Wilfred, laying his hand on Reginald's 
arm that evening. 

I don’t know, Wilfred ; we must all feel dull 
sometimes, you know.” 

“Must we?” asked the boy, wistfully. 
“ But, mon cousin, do you like that I should 
live here with mon grand-p ere and you?” 

“ Like it ? Why, certainly, Wilfred. Who 
ever put such an idea into your head?” asked 
Reginald, greatly vexed. 

“No one; but I heard Mr. Lanning talking 
to Monsieur one day, and I feared that it was 
that you did not like me here.” 

“Now, Wilfred, I want to tell you some- 
thing,” and he drew him down on his knee. 
“ I want you to call me Reginald, or Regie, if 
you like it better, and to feel that I am your 
big brother, always ready to help you and to 
stand by you. As to liking to have you, why, 


WILFRED. 


213 


you don’t know what a difference it has made 
already in this great empty house, having a lit- 
tle fellow like you to keep us lively. Indeed, 
nothing could have made me more glad than 
your coming,” and he stooped and kissed him. 
“ When I seem dull, it is only because I have 
my own troubles, like every one else, but you 
must never think so badly of me again, as to 
suppose I do not love you. Promise me you 
won’t.” 

‘‘ I promise. Regie,” said the boy, softly ; 
and. Lord Lindisfarne coming in, looked well 
pleased at the tete-a-tete, 

A vague idea, that in some way he could not 
understand, he might not be welcome to his 
cousin (despite his unvarying kindness), had 
been troubling Wilfred’s mind ever since Mr. 
Lanning’s visit, but Reginald’s words and ca- 
ress set his fears forever at rest. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


¥ N the Rectory garden, the man who per- 
^ formed the combined duties of coachman, 
groom, and gardener, was busily occupied in 
potting his master’s beloved pelargoniums and 
heliotropes, preparatory to filling every deep- 
seated, latticed window ‘^with a bit o’ green to 
cheer master in the drear winter weather.” 

Perched on one of the wide sills sat Wilfred 
■ — a slate, covered with figures, resting on his 
knee. It was a great effort to him to keep his 
attention fixed on that dull problem, ‘‘ If 52 
pounds of sugar cost £iy 3s. 6d., what would 
76 pounds cost ? ” when he wished so very 
much to watch Sandy planting and tying up 
the flowers. But maman^'' had always tried to 
teach him to bend his mind to whatever he had 
to do, and he turned from the window reso- 
lutely, and at length succeeded in finding the 
right answer. Arithmetic was his daily trial, 
while the pleasantest of his study-hours were 

spent on Latin, in which he made rapid prog- 
(2 14) 


WILFRED. 


215 


ress. The grand old tongue, with its sonorous 
rhythm, appealed to his taste for music, and 
many a page of Virgil and Horace did Mr. 
Denbigh read to him after the tasks for the day 
were ended. 

The direction of Wilfred’s studies had lent a 
new and keen interest to the Rector’s quiet 
life, for the Earl could not bear to send him 
away to school. Indeed, in school-room lore, 
he was much behind most boys of his age ; but 
he learned quickly, delighting in reading, of ev- 
ery kind, and wrote extremely well, although 
his mingled knowledge of French and English 
interfered somewhat with the spelling of his 
frequent letters to Sir Robert, “ 7na mie^' and 
mc're Babette. 

Three times a week a master came from Tiv- 
erton to give him lessons in music, and he went 
regularly to the choral practice. Never a Sun- 
day found him absent from the choir, nor did 
his grandfather ever fail to go with him to 
church, unless ill, and then Wilfred would sing 
him his favorite chants and hymns, on his re- 
turn, accompanying himself on a small organ 
the Earl had given him. 

They were ver)^ happy together; the child 


2I6 


WILFRED. 


watching over his grandfather with a tender 
thoughtfulness, learned years ago, which was 
very touching; and as for Lord Lindisfarne, 
he idolized him in return. But for the boy's 
gentle nature, and loving, grateful heart, he 
would surely have been spoilt by indulgence, 
and over and over the old man would question 
him as to the past, and about his life in London, 
always ending with, ‘‘And they were kind to 
you, and took good care of you, my darling?" 
asked in a wistful, yearning tone, as if seeking 
to heal some aching wound by the oft-repeated 
answer. 

“ Now, Wilfred," the Rector would say, when 
he saw him looking wearied over his books, 
“ run out for awhile, and see what Sandy is 
about, and we will do the other lessons after 
you are rested." And he would rush off to cool 
his flushed cheeks in the fresh air, and have a 
little talk with the man of many trades, with 
whom he was a great favorite. 

Frequently, however, he preferred to draw up 
his chair beside Mr. Denbigh's, for conversation, 
which sometimes embraced a wide range of 
topics, both grave and gay, but oftenest turned 
on sacred themes, and if the boy's soul expand- 


WILFRED, 


217 


ed into new beauty and promise, under the ear- 
nest training of his tutor, the latter, in turn, 
learned lessons of faith and loving trust, never 
to be effaced. 

It chanced one day, while talking thus to- 
gether, that Wilfred mentioned having prayed 
to the Blessed Virgin to help him in some 
difficulty. Startled, by what he immediately 
charged to his own inadvertence, Mr. Denbigh 
remonstrated gently, and opening a Bible on 
the table beside him, read verse after verse, to 
prove the inefificacy of any prayer, save to 
Christ alone. And Wilfred listened — listened 
with a look of deepening perplexity and doubt ; 
of incredulity and distress. Ma mie re- 
monstrances had been unheeded, and long ago 
forgotten, in fact ; but the Rector was wise, as 
well as good, and he must know what was right. 

Outside, his pony stood waiting and pawing 
the gravel before the trellised door, in his im- 
patience to be off, but the sound was for once 
unnoticed by his young master. 

But, Mr. Denbigh, it was ma^nan, my own 
maman^ who taught me to pray,'’ came at last 
the reply, for which the clergyman waited, and 
with a wordless prayer for help to guide him 


2i8 


WILFRED. 


aright, he strove to explain to him the dififer- 
ences of creed, and the infinite blessing and 
comfort of ‘^the One Mediator/’ But, Wilfred 
listened without making any further remark, 
and, with an air of deep dejection, said good- 
bye at last, and rode away, leaving Mr. Denbigh 
scarcely less troubled, and quite uncertain as to 
the impression his words had made. Nor was 
there any further reference to the conversation 
between them, till months after, when, in view 
of the approaching Confirmation, Wilfred con- 
sented to comply with the Rector’s wishes, but 
the subject was evidently painful to him, and he 
seemed to avoid discussing it. 

“ Oh ! parents who deem it of little or no 
consequence, whether your children receive early 
religious instruction or not, and regard it as im- 
material what their first impressions may be, 
how little you realize how soon the precious 
seed may be sown, and how deeply ! ” mused 
the clergyman as he turned from the window, 
after watching Wilfred out of sight. 

Lord Lindisfarne’s prejudice against St. Ma- 
ry’s, and Mr. Denbigh, had long vanished, and 
one of his greatest pleasures now, was to have 


WILFRED. 


219 


the Rector dine at the Towers, for with Wilfred 
for a bond of union, they had become fast friends. 
Beside, being both men of culture and learning, 
they found so many topics of mutual interest, as 
to make the hours spent together very enjoyable. 

They were sitting before the Library fire one 
evening, while Wilfred lay at full length on the 
rug, deep in Louis’s School-days,” which Su- 
sie Lauriston had lent him. 

“ Did you know, Mr. Denbigh, that this 
steamer which is lost, is the one in which Cap- 
tain Neville sailed?” asked the Earl. 

So I hear. It was a fearful ending to a mis- 
spent life, for there is nothing so dreadful to 
me as an accident at sea ; it is so utterly hope- 
less. Does Reginald know?” 

^Wes, he read it aloud to me. You know he 
reads me the Times every day after breakfast. 
He made no comment, nor did I ; but he has 
looked depressed ever since, I fancy, and I was 
glad for him to go to dine at Lauriston to-day. 
He goes next week to Lindisfarne, to superin- 
tend some new tenants’ houses I am having 
built, and I think I will ask young Lauderdale 
to go and keep him company. Are you at all 
acquainted in Shropshire, Mr. Denbigh?” 


220 


WILFRED. 


I have been there once or twice only/' re- 
plied the Rector. 

‘‘The reason I ask, is, that I have a very 
pretty old place there — my mother’s maiden 
property — which will be Reginald’s, and I am 
anxious for him to represent Harborough, but 
so far, he has shown no interest in politics.’' 

“ Perhaps his thoughts are engrossed in an- 
other direction," remarked Mr. Denbigh, with a 
smile. 

“Ah! You think so? I hadn’t thought of 
that ; but it is quite proper that he should marry 
first. I’m afraid I am growing blind, as well 
as old, not to have noticed before, for, now you 
mention it, I ought to have guessed long ago 
the secret of these daily visits to the Hall." 


CHAPTER XXVIL 


S UMMER, with its long days of sunshine, 
was over, and the rooks in the old elms 
round the Towers grew more vociferous in their 
councils, as the sun moved southward, and 
autumn crept on apace. The Virginia creeper, 
overgrowing the west wing at Lauriston Hall, 
lent a glow to the landscape, and shook down 
showers of crimson leaves on every passer-by, 
and the daisies scattered through the grass, 
shivered in the October wind. 

Lady Margaret and Mr. Lauriston had gone 
with Maude to call on some friends who had a 
young daughter about the same age; and Miss 
Browning had taken the children on a long 
promised expedition, to bestow sundry articles, 
made by themselves, on a little orphan baby, 
who had excited their sympathies in the harvest- 
field that season. It lived with its grand-par- 
ents, in a cottage at a distance much beyond the 

usual limit‘d of their daily walk, so that it was 

(221) 


222 


WILFRED. 


something of an event to go, and they had set 
off in high glee. 

Madeline stayed at home, as she particularly 
wished to finish a sketch she was making in 
water-colors, for her father s birthday gift ; and 
putting on her hat and coat, she sallied out 
alone, with her port-folio under her arm. 

She was sketching a little dell, at the foot of 
the hill, behind the house, through which a tiny 
streamlet flowed on its way to the river, and 
was a favorite haunt with the deer. Seating 
herself on a low stump, she had just selected 
the pencil she wished, when a boy came 
whistling down the hillside behind her, and 
the deer, with heads erect, showed signs of 
deserting. 

Don’t whistle, Jackie,” she called, ^^you dis- 
turb the deer, and I want to put some of them 
into my picture.” 

Daddy telled me to drive ’em up to the 
barn-yard, Miss ; to-day is the day they do be 
salted,” was the reply. 

Very well, tell him I told you to leave them 
for a while, and in about half an hour come for 
them again,” and Jackie having obediently van- 
ished, she went on rapidly with her drawing, 


WILFRED. 


223 


but had not quite finished, when she again heard 
approaching footsteps. 

That tiresome boy, why can't he wait till he 
sees 1 am ready?’' she murmured to herself, but 
concluded not to send him back. 

^‘You have come too soon,” she remarked, 
without looking up, and then, surprised at 
Jackie’s stopping short, just behind her, glanced 
round to meet a pair of handsome, laughing, 
brown eyes. 

I hope that remark was not really intended 
for me ! ” said Reginald, in his low, pleasant 
voice, coming a step nearer to look over her 
shoulder at the drawing. 

I mistook you for Jackie,” she answered as 
she held up her sketch. 

^‘Then, either I ought to feel dreadfully snub- 
bed, or Jackie very much complimented,” said 
Reginald, laughing. ‘‘ Here he comes now,” 
then eyeing the drawing critically — That old 
birch is capital, and so is the group of deer; but 
don’t you think the foreground is just a little 
crowded ? ” 

I see what you mean. Yes, I am afraid it is. 
I am glad you called my attention to it ; and it 
is what Miss Browning is always cautioning me 


224 


WILFRED. 


about, too. I really believe one reason is, I love 
everything about this old place so dearly, that I 
hate to leave out a single flower or stone or 
shrub when I sketch.” 

It will grieve you to leave it all some day,” 
he said, thoughtfully, as if half to himself. 

It would, indeed,” she answered, gathering 
up her sketching materials. 

Do you know I am going away, next week ? ” 

For an instant her heart stood still. 

Where?” she asked, vainly trying to speak 
as usual. 

Only to Lindisfarne on business, but I shall 
be gone nearly till Christmas. Will you be 
sorry to have me go?” 

Yes, we shall all miss you dreadfully,” she 
replied, succeeding better this time. 

But you miss me?” persisted Reginald, 
trying to see her face, as she bent down to pick 
up a missing pencil. 

‘^How could I help it?” and Madeline looked 
up at him, with her sweet eyes full of wonder, 
then glanced away, blushing and half startled at 
the earnestness of his gaze. 

“ Madeline, I have something to say to you,” 
and he sat down on the grass beside her. “ You 


WILFRED. 


22; 


must long ago have guessed that I love you, 
though you can 7iever know how inexpressibly 
dear you are to me, and sometimes I have dared 
to hope that you care for me a little. I didn’t 
mean to have spoken just yet ; but I don’t 
feel as if I could go away without hearing from 
your lips if I may ever hope to win you ! Dar 
ling ! ” and in his great earnestness he took her 
hand in both of his, I know that I am asking 
you to sacrifice a great deal ; that, in marrying 
me, you will not be making such a match as you 
might ; and yet I am so selfish as to long to 
have you for my own, and so conceited as to 
believe that I could make you very happy. 
You don’t know all I have suffered in the past 
few months, Madeline, and once I thought I 
could never dare to tell you of my love, but now 
I can be silent no longer. I must know if you 
care for me or not!” Her hand trembled in 
his ; but her face was turned away. Answer 
me, Madeline,” and he bent his head to listen. 

“ Reginald, you know that I love you,” she 
whispered ; and then he covered her hand with 
kisses, pouring out his love for her in words of 
passionate tenderness. 

Was it because you were unhappy that you 

15 


226 


WILFRED. 


stayed away so long ? asked Madeline, presently 
and listened, full of sympathy, as he told her of 
the trouble that had come to him, and of all his 
miserable fears, lest the Earl should have be- 
lieved him party to the deception. It was an 
hour of perfect bliss, and they lingered so long 
that the early twilight had begun to fall before 
they reached the house. 

“ One thing. Regie, I am not eighteen yet, 
you know, and will mamma think it right, your 
speaking so to me ? 

We will ask her,'' he answered joyously, as 
if very sure of forgiveness. 

And papa ? ” 

I don't believe he will be very angry with 
us," and they both smiled, well knowing that 
Mr. Lauriston would be sure to agree with 
mamma." 

Reginald, deciding it would be best to dine at 
home, and return later, left Madeline at the hall 
door, and she ran up at once to her own room. 

Why, where have you been, Madeline?" 
asked Maude, coming in. We’ve been back 
this long time." 

I’ve been working on my sketch for papa,'* 
replied her sister, flushing rosy red. 


WILFRED. 


227 


But you can’t have been able to see foi ever 
so long,’^ persisted Maude, and mamma has 
been quite worried at your being out so late.’^ 
Reginald walked home with me,” Madeline 
explained, hoping Maude would save her further 
questioning, by mentioning the fact. “ Had 
you a pleasant visit ? ” 

‘‘Oh, very! only Lady Jane was sorry you 
hadn’t come too. She told mamma she saw 
aunt Dunbar in Scotland, and she said she was 
going to ‘ present ’ you next season, and expect- 
ed you to make a great sensation. Why, I de- 
clare, you’re blushing ! ” said Maude, who shared 
Geoffrey’s love of teasing. 

“ Oh, nonsense, Maude, don’t tease me ! You 
see I’m in a hurry to dress for dinner. Ring for 
Martha, please, that’s a dear.” 

“Very well, I will if you’ll kiss me; but I 
warn you now, it won’t do for either you or Mar- 
tha to be late when you go to stay with aunt 
Dunbar, or ‘ I shall not permit you to marry 
either a Duke or an Earl ” and holding up her 
head and straightening her shoulders, Maude 
imitated the slow tone and majestic manner of 
their father’s sister, the Countess Dunbar, as she 
sailed across the room to the bell-rope. 


228 


WILFRED. 


Mamma ” — and Madeline drew her mother’s 
arm within hers as they left the dining-room — 
“ will you come into the conservatory with me 
for a little while ? ” And there, among the heli- 
otropes and roses, in the dim light streaming in 
from the library, she told the story of her new- 
found happiness. 

What need to tell of the mother’s answering 
joy, and warm, loving sympathy, as she folded 
her child to her heart ? And when, presently, 
Reginald’s quick step was heard in the hall, 
Lady Margaret went to meet him, and left her 
alone. Standing there, under a Marshall Niel 
rose (the gardener’s pride), which twined its long 
green branches up to the very roof, one of the 
pale, creamy flowers scattered its petals over 
her. I will take it for a good omen,” said the? 
girl, stooping to gather up the fragrant rose 
leaves. 

Both Mr. Lauriston and Lady Margaret gave 
a ready consent to Reginald’s suit ; but Lady 
Margaret was very firm in requiring that Made- 
line should not be married for at least a year ; 
and although disposed at heart to be more le- 
nient, Mr. Lauriston upheld her decision. 

‘‘ She is not quite eighteen,” said her mother, 


WILFRED, 


• 229 


*‘and has seen nothing of the world. She must 
have 'a season in London and learn all those 
things which only contact with society will teach 
her, and which will help to form her character 
and perfect her judgment in after-life.’' 

“ But really, my love, I think Madeline unu- 
sually mature for her years,” put in her father, 
ready to take up the cudgels, as it were, in de- 
fense of this idol of his heart. 

I know all you would say, dear, and you too, 
Reginald,” smiling at them both, but, indeed, 
I am right, and some day you and Madeline will 
understand better what I mean, and thank me 
for my decision.” 

But that will be more than a year to wait. 
Lady Margaret ! ’’ said Reginald, aggrieved. 

Yes, a whole year and six weeks before her 
nineteenth birthday!” and Lady Margaret and 
Mr. Lauriston, much older lovers, laughed at 
his doleful expression. 

Never mind, my dear fellow,” said Mr. Lau- 
riston, laying his hand affectionately on his 
shoulder; ^Mearn to make the best of it; for 
when ‘ my lady ’ says a thing, she means it,” 
and Reginald followed his advice implicitly, by 


230 


WILFRED. 


going to look for Madeline, and, finding her 
lingering still among the flowers, sat down be- 
side her, telling her how his petition had been 
granted, and that she was now his very own 
and much more beside, till, warned by the late- 
ness of the hour, that it was time to depart. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


H E year has passed away, which Reginald 



thought so endless to look forward to, and 
has wrought few changes among our friends in 
Devonshire. 

Lord Lindisfarne’s step is firmer than it was 
a year ago, and his health stronger. The weary, 
hunted look which then made his gray hairs so 
pathetic, has given place to an expression of 
restfulness and peace, and his heart is utterly 
bound up in the boy, with whom grandpapa '' 
is always first. Except the hours he spends 
with Mr. Denbigh, or in exercise, they are al- 
ways together. They read together, drive to- 
gether, confide in each other, and every evening 
Wilfred sings to him. His organ stands in one 
corner of the library, and his voice — grown 
stronger, and, if possible, sweeter — is a keen 
delight to the old man. 

But what Wilfred likes best are those even- 
ings when Madeline comes to dinner with her 
father and mother, and plays and sings with 


(231) 


232 


WILFRED. 


him. He is very fond of her, addressing her 
always as ma coiisine^' with a grave courtesy, 
which at first made her feel shy. but now she 
has become used to it. 

Reginald often wishes Wilfred’s life less 
lonely, and devises plans for giving him com- 
panions of his own age, but he seems entirely 
content to be with his grandfather and himself, 
and to find all the amusement he needs in his 
pony and dogs, his music and books, and occa- 
sional visits to Lauriston. 

When he grows older he will be more so- 
ciable, and like other boys,” Sir Robert had said 
on his last visit, when Reginald spoke to him. 

He is certainly perfectly happy and contented, 
and, when I remember the sad little face, which 
used to make my heart ache when I first knew 
him, I think the change in him quite won- 
derful.” 

Madeline has had her season in London, and 
did not disappoint her aunt’s expectations. 
The lovely, happy face, and the same winning, 
gracious manner, which had made her mother a 
reigning belle during the two seasons before her 
marriage, distinguished the daughter, and won 
her hosts of friends wherever she went. 


WILFRED. 


233 


Lady Dunbar had chaperoned several young 
women, with whose career she had been well 
pleased, but never one who was so thoroughly 
a success as Madeline ; and she dispatched long 
letters to Devonshire, closely written, on paper 
emblazoned with the Dunbar crest, in crimson 
and gold, filled with her niece’s conquests. 

The Earl of Hadley is extremely attentive 
to my pet, but she is provokingly indifferent,” 
she wrote in one of these epistles, and, chancing 
to see Reginald that day, Mr. Lauriston told 
him as a joke. The result was a flying visit to 
Park Lane, on the part of the young lover, and 
next week came another missive. 

We had a visit from young Neville a few 
days ago — a very handsome, nice-mannered 
young fellow — but Madeline showed so much 
pleasure, that Lord Hadley, who was lunching 
with us, seemed quite put out, and I lectured 
her a little afterward, though I never can be 
angry with the child. However, my dear 
brother, I hope you and Margaret will not al- 
low her to drift into any intimacy which might 
be to her disadvantage, for I am quite resolved 
that my little pet shall one day wear a cor- 
onet.” 


234 


WILFRED. 


Poor Charlotte ! how furious she will be 
when she finds ‘young Neville’ is to be her 
nephew ! ” laughed Mr. Lauriston, to Lady 
Margaret, as they read the letter together 
And he was right. 

The Countess was extremely angry, when, a 
few days before the momentous year ended, 
Madeline wrote her of her engagement. Her 
disappointment was so great, that she kept her 
room the rest of the day, but, toward evening, 
discerned a ray of comfort in the fact that the 
Earl of Hadley had not, after all, proposed. 

Long afterward, when Madeline confessed, 
that at a certain flower show she had refused 
him permission to follow her, to obtain her fa- 
ther’s consent to his addresses, she took still 
greater comfort in being able to say to her in- 
timate friends, “ My niece refused Lord Had- 
ley, you know,” or, “ When the Earl of Had- 
ley was paying his addresses to Madeline,” and, 
meantime, Madeline was in hopes, that by the 
time the wedding-day was fixed, her aunt 
would so far forgive her as to consent to be 
present at her marriage. 

She would be nineteen in December, and the 
wedding was to take place early in January. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 



LL day the rain had fallen in torrents, and 


^ as Wilfred had a return of the slight cough, 
which always made his grandfather anxious, the 
carriage had been sent for Mr. Denbigh, and he 
had given him his lessons in the Library. 

Then he had played billiards by himself, and 
a game of battledore and shuttle-cock in the 
hall with John (one of the footmen, long since 
promoted to be his special attendant), and now, 
looking up from the Davenport, where he was 
writing to consult Sir Robert about the Christ- 
mas gifts he wished him to select, a bright 
thought seemed to strike him. 

“ Grandpapa, I have a very great favor to ask 
you.’’ 

Well, darling, tell me what it is,” said Lord 
Lindisfarne, laying down his book. 

Might I have ‘ ma mie,' to spend this one 
Christmas with me ? ” 

‘‘ Write and tell her that you wish her to come, 
and that I say she must not disappoint you ’ 


(235) 


236 


WILFRED. 


replied his grandfather ; then going to his sec- 
retary, he wrote a cheque^ 

‘‘You must inclose this, Wilfred. It is the 
money for the journey; you know it is a long 
way from Westmoreland to Devonshire, and she 
may not have enough ready money by her at 
the end of the year.’' 

“ My own dear grandpapa, how I love you,” 
exclaimed the boy, throwing his arms round 
him, and kissing him in his impetuous way; then 
sitting down, he put aside his letter to Sir 
Robert, till he wrote to “ ma mie^ 

It was a short, childish epistle, but never was 
one that gave greater pleasure, when it reached 
its destination in the quiet hamlet where Mrs. 
Green lived with her brother ! 

Poor “ ma mie ! ” Everything seemed changed 
to her in her old home, after her long absence. 
Old friends had died, or moved away; her 
brother, though kind and glad to have her, had 
his home and heart already filled by a host of 
grandchildren, whose mother seemed rather dis- 
posed to consider her an intruder. Then she 
missed Barbara, who was away in Italy with her 
invalid mistress, and above all, her lonely heart 
yearned after the boy, who was a link with the 


WILFRED. 


237 


past, and whose love had been so precious to 
her. 

‘‘ Come just as soon as you can,” wrote Wil- 
fred, and accordingly the good woman made 
her preparations at once, and the day after her 
answer was received at the Towers, Wilfred 
went himself, to the station to meet her. All 
the way from Salisbury, ma mie ” was exer- 
cised to know if it would be quite right for her 
to kiss the grandson of an Earl ; and whether 
he was changed, or if she would see him again 
just as he looked when he drove away from 
Gordon's Court, eighteen months ago — and al- 
together she was feeling very much flurried, and 
rather forlorn, when the guard flung open the 
carriage door and shouted Lauriston Station,” 
and then — with one spring Wilfred was in her 
arms! Yes, it was the same dear child she had 
loved and cared for so tenderly, and longed for 
so sadly, all these months gone by ! There was 
no disappointment for her here I He had grown 
taller, and his face was a trifle more round, but 
that was all, and then the footman, whom she 
had not noticed, came to take her bag, which 
rather disconcerted her, but Wilfred, turning 
round, said : 


238 


WILFRED. 


‘‘This is John, who waits on me now, ^ ma 
I'nie^ and this is Mrs. Green, John, who used to 
take care of me before I came to grandpapa,” 
and John, touching his hat respectfully, fell be- 
hind, till he helped “ ma mie ” into the carriage, 
while his young m.aster sprang lightly in aftei 
her. He had so much to say, that he scarcely 
knew where to begin ! When they drew up at 
the hall door, he took her hand and led her up 
the wide marble steps, and into the Library to 
his grandfather, who gave her a most kindly 
welcome, but refrained from any expression of 
gratitude, lest he should further embarrass her. 

Mrs. Stratton (who, in common with all the 
household, worshiped Wilfred), had felt just a 
little jealous at the arrival of any one who had 
known him before she had; but first the remem- 
brance of all she had done for him, and then 
the sight of his pleasure, and of “ ma mie s ” 
dear, kind face, made them friends at once, and 
when, presently, Wilfred went back to his grand 
fat her, he left them as cosy as possible together 


CHAPTER XXX. 


HRISTMAS fell on Monday that year, 



and invitations for a children’s party had 
been sent out for the following evening, while 
Madeline’s wedding-day was fixed for the fourth 
of January, at Reginald’s urgent request — it be- 
ing his twenty-third birthday. 

Poor Lady Margaret’s hands were full — what 
with preparations for Christmas, the party, and 
the wedding, and the constant arrival of pack- 
ages from London and Paris — the directions 
which no one else could give ; the complica- 
tions no one else could adjust---and then, to 
crown all, came a polite note from the dress- 
maker, telling her it would be quite impossible 
to let mademoiselle have her wedding-dress by 
the fourth, since the house in Brussels had failed 
to finish the flounces ! Wilfred, happening to 
be there at the time, was pressed into the serv- 
ice ; and, always delighted to do Lady Marga- 
ret’s bidding, wrote in French to the modiste^ at 
her dictation, while her busy fingers filled the 


(239) 


240 


WILFRED. 


last of the cornucopias for the Christmas-tree, 
telling her to transfer the order to the Com- 
pagnie des Indes, for come it must. 

On Christmas eve came tv/o huge cases from 
London, directed to the Earl, which excited 
Wilfred’s liveliest curiosity, but he was told he 
must wait till the next day, and his attention 
was soon diverted by the arrival of a large box 
addressed to himself, and containing the gifts 
he had asked Sir Robert to purchase for him. 
He had been greatly perplexed to know what 
his grandfather would like, and Reginald had 
exhausted his ingenuity in suggesting a variety 
of things, when he chanced to notice that his 
dressing-gown was shabby, and decided at once. 
He wrote Sir Robert exactly what the new one 
must be like — of gray cloth, lined with violet 
silk. 

For Reginald, he chose a pair of seal-skin 
gloves ; and for Madeline, “ something with a 
‘ ne monbliez pas ’ on it, because she likes 
them ; ” and was entirely satisfied with Sir 
Robert’s choice of an odd little gold ring, with 
a forget-me-not ” in turquoises. He had some 
book or toy for each of the Lauriston children ; 
and for Lady Margaret, a small locket, with her 


WILFRED 


241 


monogram engraved on it ; and having aston- 
ished John by requesting him to cut off a little 
lock of his hair, where it would not be missed, 
retired to his own room to place it in the tiny 
receptacle. 

All the servants had been remembered, and 
there v/ere cashmere shawls for ma mie and 
Mrs. Stratton, a new silver watch for Jenkyns, 
and a gorgeous scarf-pin (of a pug's head in 
platina) for John. 

Sir Robert arrived in due time on Christmas 
eve, and was quite as much delighted as Wil- 
fred could have desired with the photograph, in 
a pretty gilt frame, which he had had taken a 
month before at Exeter, where he had gone 
with Reginald for the purpose. 

Nor was Max Lauderdale forgotten, foi* 
when he came over on Christmas day, to offer 
his good wishes, Wilfred surprised him with a 
riding-whip, of a peculiar pattern, like one he 
had lost in climbing the bank for him one day, 
to gather some ferns he wanted for his herba- 
rium. 

At the dawn of day, on Christmas morning, 
he crept on tip-toe, with a well-filled stocking 
in his hand, into his grandfather's room to see 
16 


242 


WILFRED. 


if he was awake, so they could open it together 
and, finding that he was, climbed into bed be» 
side him. If the contents were less surprising 
to the Earl than to Wilfred, his pleasure was 
quite as great in seeing his delight. He knew 
his grandfather was the Santa Claus who had 
sent him all these beautiful gifts, and for each 
one came renewed thanks and kisses ; and when, 
at last, John came to help him dress, he had to 
show everything to him, so that he was very 
nearly late for prayers. 

Reginald had little silver collars for his dogs, 
with their names engraved on them, which es- 
pecially delighted him ; and on his plate, in two 
packages, he found a beautiful little gold watch 
from Sir Robert, and a pretty rococo watchstand 
from Madeline. 

The large cases, which had come the day be- 
fore, contained portraits, copied by an eminent 
artist, from Wilfred's miniatures of his father 
and mother, and had been unpacked and the 
pictures placed side by side in the drawing-room. 

When breakfast was over, his grandfather led 
him into the room, but thought it best to tell 
him of what he had in reserve, lest the sight of 
the lifelike faces should prove a shock rather 


WILFRED. 


243 


than a surprise. Great was his distress, when, 
springing forward with a low cry, Wilfred burst 
into tears. 

My darling,” said Lord Lindisfarne, I meant 
to have given you pleasure,” and he rested his 
hand on the curly head. 

Oh, grandpapa ! ” sobbed the boy, I can’t 
help it, for it is just as if papa and mamari 
had come for me at last. I dreamt of them last 
night, and they looked like that, and now my 
dream is come true ! My own grandpapa, what 
should I do without you? You are always 
thinking to give me a pleasure.” 

And what should I do without my own pre- 
cious child ? ” asked the old man, straining him 
to his heart, for his words came home to him 
with a strange misgiving. 

When Wilfred had dried his tears, he went 
to bring Sir Robert to see his gifts, then ‘‘ ina 
mie,'' Reginald, and Mrs. Stratton, Jenkyns, and 
John; but he led each in separately, as if he 
deemed the pictures something sacred, upon 
whicii, many eyes might not gaze. 

All through the day, at intervals, he stole off 
to sit alone and look at the beloved faces, and 
was more than ever tender toward his grand- 


244 


WILFRED. 


father, lest he should have been hurt, and 
thought him ungrateful, when it was only his 
great joy which had made the tears come before 
he knew it. 

Lord Lindisfarne was glad when church-time 
came, and, in spite of a snow-storm, resolved to 
go himself, since Wilfred was to have an im- 
portant part in the singing, and had been very 
eager about it, not missing a single practicing, 
and making the village boys doubly attentive 
by his example. 

His influence is worth everything,” Mr. 
Denbigh had said to the Earl one day. Since 
he came, there has been no whispering or smil- 
ing among the choristers, and I believe the sight 
of his pure devotion has taught them more 
than all the lectures I used to read them. They 
seem now really to understand that their sing- 
ing is a solemn part of the service, instead of the 
form of amusement they used to consider it.” 

There had existed a slight rivalry toward Wil- 
fred on the part of Joe Blake, a farmer’s son, 
who had always taken leading parts before he 
came, and the only drawback to his delight, in 
this greatest of all pleasures, was the knowledge 
that Joe Blake sometimes felt crossly at his 


WILFRED. 


245 


having taken his place. Several times he had 
persuaded Mr. Denbigh to let Joe sing instead, 
but this Christmas-tide the Rector was quite re- 
solved on having Wilfred sing, Hear, O Israel ! 
He had spared no pains in practicing, and it 
suited his voice to perfection, so that when the 
clear, full notes echoed through the church, the 
congregation was fairly electrified. He sang 
as he had never sung before, and of all who 
heard him, none ever forgot him, as he stood 
there, that Christmas morning, with clasped 
hands, pouring out his soul in melody. 

Ma 7nie s thoughts went back to the day 
when she had listened to him at the Abbey, 
holding Winnie’s little trembling hand in hers — 
and she bowed her head and wept. 

For many years, the Earl had given up invit- 
ing friends for Christmas, and as he had no rel- 
atives to come to him, he and Reginald and 
Wilfred, ate their quiet dinner together, the 
only excitement being the plum-pudding all 
ablaze, in which the latter was keenly inter- 
ested. Afterward, Reginald gave the little boy 
a lesson, in showing some juggler tricks his 
grandfather had given him, and with which he 
intended to astonish the Lauriston children, as 


246 


WILFRED. 


soon as he could learn the necessary sleight of 
hand, but when Jenkyns came in with bed-room 
candles, he disappeared to take a farewell look 
at his best treasures, before following his grand- 
father up-stairs. 

Sir Robert was dining at the Hall, Mr. Lau- 
riston having absolutely refused to let him off, 
and after bidding the Earl and Wilfred good- 
night, Reginald sped across the park for another 
glimpse at Madeline, arriving in time to respond 
to Mr. Lauriston’s toast, to the united welfare 
and happiness of both families. 

And so ended a Christmas destined never to 
be forgotten by any of them ! 


CHAPTER XXXI. 


I T was the day after Christmas, and the ar- 
rangements for the children’s party at Lau- 
riston Hall were progressing briskly. Reginald 
and Wilfred had been asked to come early and 
help, and the former did good service in fes- 
tooning pictures and mirrors with ferns and 
flowers, in addition to the Christmas dressing 
of evergreens. Miss Browning, Madeline, and 
Maude were busy making the wreaths, and 
Geoffrey, being in a teasing mood, hung round 
pretending to criticise, and managing altogether 
to be decidedly troublesome, till he yielded a 
lazy assent to Reginald’s proposition, that he 
should make himself useful by holding the 
step-ladder. 

Rosalie and Susie had at once captured Wil- 
fred to help make the button-hole bouquets, 
with which to decorate all the family, when 
Lady Margaret came in, looking disturbed, and 
sent Somers to tell one of the servants to go 
for Dr. Gray. Lena had waked, flushed and 

(247) 


248 


WILFRED. 


feverish, complaining of headache, which did 
not wear off, and her mother thought best to 
send for the doctor to come and give her 
something, so that she would be better by 
evening. 

She had sent a special request to Wilfred, to 
ask him to come up and see her, and, being one 
of the sturdiest and rosiest of the flock, was 
quite pleased with the novelty of illness, and 
the special attention to which it entitled her. 
Always glad to be of use — and being very fond 
of Lena, who had been his first friend at Lau- 
riston — Wilfred went up to the day-nursery, 
where he found the little girl in a flannel dress- 
ing-gown, tucked up on the sofa. She was de- 
lighted to see him, but confessed that her head 
ached sadly ; and presently, asking him to read 
to her in The Bishop’s Little Daughter,” she 
soon fell asleep. 

Fearful of waking her, he continued to read 
on, until Lady Margaret came and told him 
Reginald was going, and wanted him ; so, kiss- 
ing Lena good-bye, he promised if she could 
not come down in the evening, to come up and 
tell her all about it. The doctor when he arrived 
pronounced her illness the probable result of 


WILFRED. 


249 


cold, but, ordering a prescription, said he could 
tell better next day, and departed. 

Meantime, the ball was everything a ball 
should be. Old and young had been invited 
among all their friends. Lovely, happy faces 
filled the spacious rooms, and music and laugh- 
ter echoed through the beautiful old home. 

In spite of the cold, the Earl had decided to 
come, and Reginald had carefully wrapped his 
fur-lined cloak about him to prevent any ill re- 
sults. 

Ma mie ” and Mrs. Stratton had both been 
specially invited, by Madeline, and, as they 
stood in the doorway (around which the serv- 
ants clustered, to watch the dancing), were filled 
with pride as their eyes rested on Wilfred, and. 
both agreed that he looked like a little prince ” 
in his suit of embroidered black velvet, with long 
black silk stockings and pumps. A crimson 
ribbon was tied under his point-lace collar, and 
ma mie s own hands had brushed back the 
bright wavy locks from his temples. 

He looked the picture of happiness, and yet, 
among the other children, there was a some*, 
thing about him which made him seem ^‘with 
them, but not of them.” 


250 


WILFRED. 


Something of this vague feeling it was which 
made Reginald cross the room to offer to find 
him the prettiest little partner there, if he 
ivoLild come, but he declined with a gentle 

No ; thanks. Regie, I had rather stay here by 
grandpapa and watch them.” A few moments 
after, when Rosalie asked him to take her place, 
in showing a large picture-book to two of their 
younger guests, he instantly complied, taking 
such pains to amuse them that they forgot 
their shyness in listening to him. He went up 
to see Lena, but she begged him not to stay, 
and when he went again, nurse told him she 
had persuaded her to let Martha put her to bed, 
but she had left her love for him and hoped to 
see him to-morrow. 

By midnight, however, she was in a raging 
fever, moaning and tossing, and was a very ill 
child ; when morning came at last, and, in the 
early dawn, a servant was dispatched in haste 
to fetch Dr. Gray. Lord Lindisfarne had 
given orders that neither Wilfred nor himself 
should be disturbed, after the unusual excite- 
ment of the evening, and Reginald, therefore, 
ate breakfast alone, and then went over to ask 
for Lena. 


WILFRED. 


251 


An hour later he appeared at the door of the 
housekeeper’s room, with a scared face, to tell 
her that the child was extremely ill, and the 
doctor had pronounced it scarlet fever, of a bad 
type. 

Wilfred was with her yesterday, and again 
last night,” said Reginald ; and then a great 
anguish came into Stratton’s face, and they 
looked at each other in blank despair. 

^^All we can do is to pray to the Lord to 
help us, Mr. Reginald, but don’t let master 
know you are uneasy, and I’ll make a little 
flannel bag, and put some camphor in it, to tie 
round the dear child’s neck. I’ve heard tell it 
was good, and leastways it can’t do harm.” 

Poor ma mie ” was greatly distressed when 
she heard from Mrs. Stratton of their anxiety, 
and the day proving rainy, so that Wilfred was 
housed, she hovered around him, whenever he 
paid his frequent visits to the housekeeper’s 
room, with a yearning tenderness, which made 
the boy fancy she must be thinking of Winnie, 
and so caused him to redouble his loving atten 
tion to her. 

The only comfort to them lay in the fact 
that he seemed perfectly well. 


252 


WILFRED. 


Poor Lord Lindisfarne took the alarm at 
once, gave him some drops the doctor had or- 
dered as a preventive, and could not bear him 
out of his sight. At night he ordered the 
small bed to be moved into his room, and then 
spent half the night in watching his peaceful 
slumbers. 

The morning brought sad accounts from Lau- 
riston. Lena was entirely delirious, little Edith 
had sickened in the night, and they had tele- 
graphed to Exeter for further advice, at Dr. 
Gray’s request. The other children had been 
removed to a distant part of the house, and 
were restricted to the gardens, as one of the 
lodge-keeper’s little boys had the fever, and 
there were several other cases reported in the 
neighborhood. 

In the afternoon Reginald drove to the sta- 
tion with Wilfred, to meet Sir Robert, who had 
been obliged to return to London on business 
the day after Christmas, but was coming to 
spend New-Year’s, and had promised to wait 
over for the wedding on the fourth. 

The boy was greatly distressed at Lena’s ill- 
ness, and, when Sir Robert went up to his 
room, went with him. 


WILFRED. 


253 


‘^Monsieur'’ — for he still used the title by 
which he had first learned to know him — 
Monsieur, do you think Lena will die? Oh, 
can they do nothing for her? 

I hope she will get well, Wilfred. Most 
children have scarlet fever, you know, and Lena 
is strong and healthy,’' replied Sir Robert, 
cheerfully. 

Oh, I pray she will not die ! ” he exclaimed, 
with such intense earnestness, that Sir Robert 
was struck by it. 

Had time awakened within him a natural 
shrinking from the idea of death, and robbed 
his visions of the other world, of the bright- 
ness and reality which had once characterized 
them ? 

It would be so dreadful for her to die,” he 
went on, ‘‘because she is not like me, you 
know. I have my papa and maman waiting for 
me in heaven, but she would be leaving every 
one she loves here.” 

“ But, you know, my boy, we each have a 
loving Father above, whose welcome will be all 
that we need,” said Sir Robert, drawing him to 
him. 

“Oh, yes. Monsieur, I know that; but still I 


254 


WILFRED. 


am sure I would not think so much about going 
to heaven, if it were not for having manian 
there. I could not bear to leave her, you see,” 
and his lip quivered. Is it wrong, Monsieur?” 

It is only natural we should want to be with 
those we love, dear,” replied Sir Robert; then, 
anxious to comfort him, But I hope Lena 
will be spared to be a blessing to her dear par- 
ents for many long years, and little Edith too.” 

Still he did not brighten up, and kept linger- 
ing, as if there was something on his mind, till 
Sir Robert began to wonder if there was any- 
thing amiss. 

‘‘ Monsieur.” 

“ What is it, my boy ? ” 

‘‘ I have something I must tell you — some- 
thing which makes me very unhappy.” 

What is it, my dear child ? ” asked the 
baronet. 

‘‘Well, Monsieur, you know there is to be a 
Confirmation at Easter, and I wishea to be one 
of them, and grandpapa thought I was too 
young, because I am not yet twelve, but he 
spoke to Mr. Denbigh and he said I could ; and 
I was so happy, Mohsieur, for I wanted to so 
very much, and I knew maman would be glad, 


WILFRED. 


255 


for she went to la messe always when she was 
able. But Mr. Denbigh was talking to me one 
day after my lessons, and he said it was not 
right to pray to the Holy Virgin, and, when I 
told him I always did, he said I must not, or he 
could not bring me to the bishop. But I told 
him I must do as maman bade me. And then he 
read me in the Bible that we must pray to Je- 
sus Christ alone, and afterward I read the verses 
over very often, and I think maman s Bible was 
not quite like ours, or perhaps she didn’t under- 
stand, because you know she was French ; so I 
told Mr. Denbigh the other day that I would 
do as he said, and now I don’t say my ‘Ave 
Maria ’ any longer, but I can’t feel it is quite 
right, and will you tell me what to do, Mon- 
sieur?” he ended, mournfully. 

My dear little boy, I think you have done 
quite right,” said Sir Robert. “By praying to 
the Holy Virgin, we make her almost equal with 
God, and you, who read your Bible, know how 
beautiful her character was, in its humility, and 
we can fancy how she would have shrunk, with 
horror, from being worshiped. And, if God 
had intended it, would not Jesus himself have 
taught His disciples to do so, don’t you think?” 


2s6 


WILFRED. 


‘‘Yes, Monsieur, and thank you so much fol 
telling me,'’ said the boy gratefully. “ I don’t 
see how I could do without you, for you always 
understand, and know how to tell me,” and 
James coming in just then, he went down to his 
grandfather. 

The conversation had lifted a load off his 
mind, and when Sir Robert proposed a game of 
“ keep your temper,” after dinner, he readily as- 
sented, and was soon laughing the low, sweet 
laugh, which was like music to the ears of his 
grandfather. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 


/^OULD it have been only one week ago, 
that they were all so merry ! 

It seemed months at least ; and with a heavy 
sigh, Madeline left her seat by the fire, and 
went to look at Lena, who stirred in her sleep. 

The disease had reached a crisis, and the doc- 
tors had said everything would depend on how 
she waked from the deep slumber in which she 
had lain for hours. 

Lady Margaret was with little Edith, who 
was sinking rapidly. The violence of the fever 
had been too great for her strength, and her 
mother, as she held her in her arms, knew that 
for only a little longer could she clasp the pre- 
cious little form. 

Unable to endure the sight of her suffering, 
Mr. Lauriston walked the floor down-stairs, the 
picture of wretchedness. 

For the first time in all his happy, prosperous 
life, death had come to rob him of his treasures, 
and he would have gladly given all that he had, 
17 (257) 


258 


WILFRED. 


to purchase the lives he held so dear. In one 
of his restless turnings, he met Reginald, who 
had come in by the side entrance. How are 
they?” he asked in a whisper. 

They say there is just a chance for Lena, if 
she gets through to-day, but my pretty little 
Edith — my precious pet — ” and he turned away, 
so overpowered by grief, that for a moment 
Reginald thought it was all over. 

Can I speak to Madeline, one moment, Mr. 
Lauriston? There is no longer any need for 
caution on Wilfred's account, you know, for Dr. 
Gray says it is certainly the fever, although 
there is still no appearance of any rash.” 

‘‘ Good heavens ! but that is terrible news. Is 
there nothing to be done? It would kill his 
grandfather to lose him. My poor Lena has 
been calling for him incessantly in her delirium, 
but I trust and pray, he will get through, for 
it would be a death blow to the old man,” said 
Mr. Lauriston, whose warm heart, in spite of his 
own grief, was touched by the magnitude of the 
sorrow which threatened his friend. 

‘^Wilfred is no better, Madeline,” said Regi- 
nald, going to meet her, as she came in, looking 
worn and ill. “ I am on my vray to the station 


WILFRED. 


259 


now, to meet Sir Matthew Bates. Cousin Ed- 
ward telegraphed for him yesterday, and I came 
to ask if your father would like him to see the 
children. I suppose he will go back by the 
mail train to-night, but there will be plenty of 
time/’ He spoke in a low, monotonous tone, 
as if the sudden weight of anxiety and trouble 
had paralyzed his energies, and Mr. Lauriston 
having eagerly accepted the proposition, he 
turned to go. 

God bless and help us all, my darling,” he 
whispered, as Madeline went with him to the 
door, and then he drove away through the 
wintry sunshine, while she returned to her post 
in the darkened room. 

Lord Lindisfarne had unbounded faith in the 
great court physician, and as soon as he found 
the doctors were anxious, had telegraphed for 
him to come. Sir Robert, indeed, thought him 
needlessly alarmed, as Wilfred’s symptoms were 
not violent, and although he complained of his 
throat, he slept most of the time, and whenever 
he was asked, said he felt better. He liked to 
have ma mie^' to nurse him, and said, over and 
over, how glad he was she had come. His 
grandfather never left him ; his very life seemed 


26 o 


WILFRED. 


bound up in him, and no entreaties could per- 
suade him to leave the room. 

Sir Matthew came, looked grave, resorted to 
stronger measures than had yet been tried, and 
consented to wait over till the morning train, 
in order to watch the effect of his remedies. 
Mr. Lauriston sent the carriage for him after 
dinner, and he went to see Lena, consulted with 
Dr. Gray, and gave his opinion in favor of her 
recovery ; but there was no need for him to go 
to the silent room beyond, where little Edith lay 
in waxen beauty, with a smile on her baby face. 

It was the first break in the large, happy fam- 
ily, and they were all terribly distressed. The 
children passionately bemoaned their little sister, 
whose face they would never see again ; and 
Maude, while obliged to control her own grief, to 
try and soothe them, by telling how happy she 
was among the angels, was all the more broken- 
hearted, because, having never had the disease, 
she had been excluded from the sick-rooms. 

“ Madeline will always have the comfort of 
knowing she did something for her, and I never 
even saw her,'' she sobbed to Mr. Denbigh, who 
had come as soon as he heard the news, and vas 
sitting with her father. 


WILjFAED. 


261 


My dear child, don't reproach yourself for 
having done as your parents wished," said 
the Rector. ^^You have helped far more, by 
amusing the little ones and keeping them happy, 
as I know you have done, than if you had shared 
the nursing, for which there was no need. Your 
dear little sister was perfectly unconscious, al- 
most from the beginning, you know, and it 
would have greatly added to your poor mother's 
anxiety had you been needlessly exposed to the 
contagion." 

The clergyman talked on, and as Maude list- 
ened, her sobs grew less violent. It was com- 
forting to be reminded that obedience, and not 
selfishness or fear, had prevented her attend- 
ance on her little sisters ; and the bitter re- 
proaches she had been heaping on herself, for 
having been so heartless as to play hide-and 
seek with the twins while Edith was dying, were 
soothed by his kindly sympathy. She repeated 
all he had said to Geoffrey, when she went up- 
stairs, and found him lying at full length on his 
bed, with his face buried in the pillow, and cry- 
ing as if his heart would break. 

They sat together for a long time in the gath- 
ering darkness, and then, persuading him to go 


262 


WILFRED. 


with her, Maude went back to the school-room 
where Susie and Rosalie were hovering round 
the fire in a disconsolate way — the twins having 
been already carried off to bed, where they 
sobbed themselves to sleep in each other’s arms. 
Neither their mother nor Madeline could come 
to them, and Miss Browning had gone to sleep 
off a headache, preparatory to sitting up all 
night. 

The evening had closed in, dark and stormy, 
and the rain, dashing in sudden gusts against 
the windows, served to increase the feeling of 
desolation which was falling upon them. 

The stable clock struck eleven, and Geoffrey 
put fresh coals on the fire, and gloomily an- 
nounced his intention of sitting up all night. 
Maude ventured a feeble remonstrance, but in- 
wardly resolved to stay with him if he did. 

Just then, however, nurse sent for Susie and 
Rosalie ; and seeing the light under the door, 
their father presently came to tell them that 
Lena was a shade better, and that mamma 
wished them to go to bed at once. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 


HE old elms round the Towers flung up 



their gaunt boughs in the surging blast, 
which howled and moaned round the gray walls, 
in sympathy with the watchers within. 

The Earl, exhausted, had fallen asleep in his 
easy-chair, but ma mie^' from her place beside 
the bed, was watching Sir Matthew with breath- 
less anxiety, as from time to time he felt Wil- 
fred’s pulse, or put a spoon into her hand when 
he roused, as he liked best to take his medicines 
from her. But as the night wore on, the physi- 
cian’s face grew very grave, and he looked pity- 
ingly, from the flushed face on the pillow to the 
old man sleeping peacefully. 

Sir Robert crept into the room, and standing 
at the foot of the bed, looked inquiringly at Sir 
Matthew, and “ ma mie^' with a sinking heart, 
saw him shake his head in reply. Wilfred threw 
his arms about restlessly, and muttered some- 
thing in French, then, rousing more fully, asked 
for water. His grandfather waked at the sound 


(263) 


264 


WILFRED. 


of his voice, and coming to him, smoothed back 
the clustering locks. 

He seems to have less fever, Sir Matthew ; 
don’t you think he is a shade better?” whis- 
pered Lord Lindisfarne, as he dozed again. 
And then taking his arm. Sir Matthew led him 
into the next room and closed the door. 

‘‘Lord Lindisfarne,” he said, “ I have done all 
I could to save him, and the rest we must leave 
with God.” 

With a cry of agony, the old man tottered 
and would have fallen, if Sir Matthew had not 
caught him in his arms and laid him half uncon- 
scious on a sofa. 

The sound penetrated the sick-room, and Wil- 
fred opened his eyes, startled, but seeing “ ma 
mie^' and Sir Robert, seemed to think he had 
been dreaming. Reginald, utterly worn out, 
was roused by the cry, and rushed into the room 
just as the Earl regained full consciousness. 

“ Reginald, Reginald,” he called, excitedly, 
“ Sir Matthew says he has done all he could, 
but it must be a mistake ; tell him, for me, he 
must do something to save him. He is the last 
of my name — all that I have left, and he must 
not let him die ! How can he die, when he was 


WILFRED. 


265 


well three days ago? Listen, Sir Matthew: he 
was strong and well three days ago ! Ask Sir 
Robert ; ask any one. You must be mad, to 
give him up in this way ! Oh ! half of my for- 
tune shall be yours, if only you will save my boy 
— my lovely, precious boy — my only one.’' 

Lord Lindisfarne,” replied Sir Matthew, 
dashing away a tear, I have tried everything I 
could think of to help him ; but you remember 
1 told you, when you brought him up to see 
me, more than a twelvemonth ago, that he was 
very fragile.” 

‘‘Yes, yes, I know, but you thought he had a 
delicate chest, and I was always watching out for 
a cough, and would have taken him anywhere 
you thought best, if he had been ill, but he was 
growing strong and rosy, and hasn’t once been 
ill. You are only saying this to frighten me, 
and make me more careful of him — Reginald, 
don’t let him tell me there is no hope ! — don’t — 
don’t — ” and breathless, the words died on the 
white lips, as, in his anguish, he sank back, with 
great drops standing out on his forehead. 

Reader, have you ever watched beside a pre- 
cious one, to whom you would have gladly 
given half your life, if only the remnant could 


266 


WILFRED. 


have been passed together? When learned 
physicians and wise, have vainly tested their 
skill and exhausted their resources, have you 
heard of one, accounted wiser, and more learned 
still, and looked to him, almost unconsciously, 
as possessing some hidden secret of science, by 
which he should be able to restore your treas- 
ure ? Then when this great man has come, has 
asked questions, and grown a thought more 
grave at the answers — has shaken his head and 
suggested — nothing — ‘do you know the bitter- 
ness of the disappointment? The dull pain 
that creeps through the pulses? The mortal 
anguish of despair? 

If you know all this, you know how deadly 
is the pain, and can comprehend what David 
meant, by the “ iron which entereth into the 
soul ! 

Sir Matthew went back to the sick-room, and 
composing himself by a mighty effort, the old 
man presently followed, leaning on Reginald, 
who placed his arm-chair close by Wilfred. 

The early dawn revealed that strange pallor 
on the lovely features, which is the seal of 
death. 

Reginald sent a message to Mr. Denbigh, by 


WILFRED. 


267 


the carriage which took Sir Matthew to the 
station ; there was nothing more to be done, 
and the great doctor silently took his leave. 

Regie/’ said the sweet voice, as Wilfred’s 
eyes rested on him ; do you think ma coitsine 
would come to see me?” 

I know she would, Wilfred ; shall I send for 
her?” 

“ Yes, I want to speak to her very much. Tell 
her to make haste,” he added. He was entirely 
himself, and seemed rather restless, and inclined 
to talk, and asked about his dogs and his pony. 

“You must keep ^ Fanchon,’ and ‘ Babette,’ 
grandpapa ; you will like to see them playing, 
I know, but if you wouldn’t mind, would you 
let Lena have my pony? ‘ Shag’ is getting old, 
you see, and there are so many to ride, he gets 
tired.” 

“ Oh ! don’t, my child,” entreated his grand- 
father in an agony. “You will want him your- 
self as soon as you get well.” 

“ No, grandpapa, I shall never ride him any 
more. I’m going to manian' now, you know, 
and I would love Lena to have him.” 

“ Anything you wish, darling,” came from the 
quivering lips. 


268 


WILFRED. 


“Then, there's one thing more, grandpapa. 
When I die, may I be buried under the old 
thorn in the church-yard here? It is such a 
nice sunny place ; you can always find daisic's 
there, and such lots of primroses and violets 
last spring ! I know about the vault at Lindis- 
farne, for Jenkyns told me once, when I asked 
him, but papa is buried over the sea, and 
maman is not there either, and I want to be 
near you all, where you can come and see me 
often, and you can hear the boys singing out 
there," he ended dreamily. 

He had closed his eyes, and did not know 
that his last words fell on deaf ears, for Lord 
Lindisfarne had fainted, and Sir Robert and 
Reginald quietly carried him out of the room. 

Madeline came, as Reginald knew she would, 
and Wilfred, rousing from a short sleep, eagerly 
stretched out his hand and drew her down to 
him. 

“ I ain so glad you are come, ma cousine'' he 
whispered, “ I want you to promise you will 
take good care of grandpapa, and not let him 
be lonely. Don’t let him be too sorry about 
me, for you see I must go to 7naman now. She 
said she would come, as soon as the dear Lord 


WILFRED, 


269 


would let her, and she will, I know. Please 
read to grandpapa sometimes, in the evening ; 
he likes that, and don’t let him take his drive 
by himself, because he will be sure to miss me 
then, for I always go with him. And there is 
one thing — will you send sometimes for Mon- 
sieur, to come and stay here with you, and 
Regie? I think he must be lonely away in 
London, and but for him, you know, I never 
should have come to grandpapa ; and ‘ ma 
cousine^ will you let ^mamie' live here always, 
if she likes, for I don’t think she is happy where 
she stays now ? Lena is to have my pony, and 
give my love to her, and to Lady Margaret, and 
all the rest, and please come as soon as you 
can, to take care of grandpapa.’' 

His love for his grandfather had distanced 
every other earthly affection, and seemed the 
one tie, that it hurt him to break — the only 
drawback to his full content in going at last to 
mamanr 

Mr. Denbigh arrived, and was heart-broken. 
Wilfred had come into his life, and filled a vac 
uum of which he had scarcely been aware, and 
the heart of the reserved and lonely man had 
gone out to the gentle boy, as it had never done 


2/0 


WILFRED, 


to any before. The daily intercourse was a 
source of constant enjoyment, and often he had 
smiled, when tramping over the hills from one 
cottage to another, to find himself going over 
their conversations together and thinking of 
things he wanted to tell him. He had been 
startled by the conversation which revealed to 
him the fact, that Wilfred held fast to the usages 
of his early training in the Romish Church, 
but it had grieved him quite as much to have 
to reprove him and cause him distress. 

Indeed, he had scarcely understood why one 
so gentle and yielding in most things, should on 
this point have been so resolute. But, except 
to Sir Robert or “ ma mie^' he had rarely 
spoken of his mother, unless in a general way, 
and to Sir Robert alone had he ever revealed 
how inseparably the thought of her was inter- 
woven with his life, and how the principles she 
had inculcated had become so a part of his very 
being, that any departure from them seemed to 
him an act of grievous disobedience. 

As his strength failed, his mind wandered, and 
he seemed to be living over different scenes, 
sometimes speaking rapidly in French, as if to 
his mother, going over happy days with his 


WILFRED. 


271 


father, singing snatches of chants, and then 
breaking off with passionate entreaties to be 
taken back to ma mie^' and not left with ce 
chant viellard. Happily, only Sir Robert un- 
derstood his meaning, but, as twilight fell, al- 
though he still took the cordials from “ 7na 
mie s'' hand, and sometimes closed his slender 
fingers on his grandfather’s, he no longer recog- 
nized any of them. There was nothing tragic 
about it. It was only the peaceful ending of 
a young life — acquainted with grief,” yet 
crowned with blessings. 

‘‘ Don’t be frightened, mainan. Papa says 
the boat only rocks, because the tide is going 
out and we are very near the shore.” 

Yes, very near the shore of Eternity; very 
near the crystal sea ; very near to God ! 

A few long-drawn, fluttering sighs, and then 
the little fingers loose their clasp, and the blue 
eyes open wide, with a look of glad surprise. 

Did he see the mother, whose memory had 
been to him an ever-living presence ? Or the 
father, scarcely less beloved, despite the silent 
years which rolled between them? Did he 


272 


WILFRED. 


greet the face of little Winnie — the traces of 
pain all gone — or did his eyes rest only on the 
angels waiting to bear him home ? 

Only God and the angels know, for the secret 
which illumines the dying face with ineffable 
joy, and stamps it with the seal of eternal rest, 
we only learn in death. 

Come with me, cousin Edward,’' and Reg- 
inald placed his arm tenderly around him and 
half led, half carried him from the room. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 


“ TF I could say or do anything to comfort 
him ; but it is terrible to see him sitting 
there, scarcely noticing anything, and, if you 
speak, he looks up at you in a way that goes 
to my very heart,*' and Reginald’s voice fal- 
tered. 

He had persuaded Madeline to go for a walk 
to one of their favorite haunts, where a glimpse 
of the sea was visible, over a low stone fence, 
which ran along the brow of the hill, separating 
the plantation from the lane beyond. 

‘‘Couldn’t you manage to take him some- 
where, for change of scene ? ” and she drew her 
cloak more closely about her, as she sat down 
to rest on the low wall. 

“I’m afraid it would be out of the question. 
He is so very feeble and helpless. Jenkyns has 
to dress him and almost lift him into his chair, 
and Dr. Gray told me yesterday that rest and 
quiet were all he could prescribe. Perhaps 

you can do something for him when you come, 
1 8 (273) 


274 


WILFRED, 


dearest. He has always been pleased to see 
you, and will love you now for Wilfred’s sake, 
as well as for your own.” 

It will be my great happiness to do all I 
can, Regie ; we will take care of him together,” 
and she laid her hand caressingly on -his arm, 
as he leaned beside her. 

‘‘ Heigh-ho ! how different it all is from what 
we expected?” he went on. Who could have 
thought dear Wilfred would have died on what 
was to have been our wedding-day? Some- 
times it seems to me we must wake at last and 
find it has been all a dreadful dream. Every- 
thing seems changed. It is so strange at your 
house to see the children so quiet, and it quite 
grieves me to look at your father. He hadn’t 
a word to say yesterday after you left the 
table.” 

“ Poor papa ! it is his first great sorrow, and he 
feels it all the more from the contrast with the 
usual brightness of his life, but he seems more 
cheerful to-day, since Dr. Gray has decided that 
Lena must have change, and I left him writing 
to engage rooms at Ventnor.” 

Will you all go ? ” 

Yes, I don’t think papa would consent to be • 


wn.FRF.n. 


275 


separated, and Lena will improve more if she 
has the other children with her. Poor little 
thing,” said Madeline, she can’t get rid of the 
idea that it was her fault. It is touching to 
hear her, and she cries incessantly. I think she 
must have overheard some one say that the 
others took the fever from her. Mamma and I 
have said everything we could think of to com- 
fort her, but she always comes back to the same 
thing ; although she did seem pleased yesterday, 
when mamma told her she should have all the 
prettiest flowers to take to the church-yard her- 
self, as soon as she is able.” 

What did she say when she heard about the 
pony?” asked Reginald. 

She cried and sobbed more than ever, and 
said she could never bear to ride him ; but she 
seemed gratified to have had Wilfred think of 
her, and I am sure will prize him above every- 
thing.” 

The dear little fellow has certainly left many 
to mouin for him. Did I tell you about Joe 
Blake — that tall lad, who used to lead before 
Wilfred came?” 

‘Wou don’t mean the one who was so jealous 
. of him?” 


276 


WILFRED. 


^‘Yes, well, John came to me the day before 
the funeral, to say one of the choristers would 
insist on speaking to me. So I went into the 
hall, and there he stood, looking very shy, and 
gave me two white hyacinths, and asked me, 
‘ Please to put them in the young gentleman’s 
hand,’ and then he gave a great sob, and bolted 
out of the house before I could stop him. Those 
were the flowers in the coffin with him. Mr. 
Denbigh says he’s awfully cut up, because he 
has several times behaved ill when it was de- 
cided that Wilfred should sing solos.” 

How beautifully the boys sang at the fu- 
neral. I can never forget that ‘ Nearer, my God, 
to Thee.’ They seemed fairly to enter into the 
spirit of it, although several of them faltered.” 

‘Wes,” said Reginald, “it was his favorite 
hymn. He sang it every Sunday evening to 
cousin Edward. I can hear him now — 

“ ‘ Or if on joyful wing, 

Cleaving the sky, 

Sun, moon, and stars forgot, 

Upward I fly.’ 

His voice always seemed to take a different ex- 
pression at that verse, as if it was his own very 
soul that was mounting upward.” 


WILFRED 


277 


Do you know, ever since then, those verses 
have been part of my prayers, but 1 can’t always 
grasp the full meaning of — 

‘ E’en though it be a cross that raiseth me.’ 

Now that we are in sorrow, it seems natural to 
long to be lifted ^ out of the darkness into the 
light ’ of God’s presence, that, in nearness to 
Him, we may be cheered and comforted ; but I 
am afraid. Regie, it would be very hard to pray, 
‘ E’en though it be a cross,’ if everything was 
once more bright and joyous, as it used to be. 
It would almost seem like praying that trouble 
might come, wouldn’t it ?” 

It is just that, darling, which proves, that 
however we may think we love God, we love 
Him, after all, more for our own sakes than for 
His, and more, I am afraid, for the blessings 
which we hope to obtain than for those He has 
already bestowed on us. Thomas a Kempis 
was right when he wrote: ‘Jesus now hath 
many lovers of His heavenly kingdom, but few 
bearers of His cross,’ ” said Reginald, thought- 
fully. 

“ I was thinking last night. Regie, how differ- 
ent life is, even to members of the same family ! 


2J% 


WILFRED, 


Heie was I, eighteen before I knew what sorrov^i 
meant, and poor little Lena is only ten, and 
neatly broken-hearted/’ 

^^Yes, but 1 think, Madeline, that your life 
has been quite exceptionally happy. Not many 
live in this world so long without a cloud of 
some sort,” replied Reginald, thinking of his 
own troubled youth. How long do you think 
you will stay at Ventnor?” 

I suppose until Lena really begins to mend. 
You don’t know how I hate to leave you, Regie * 
but it won’t be for very long.” 

Darling, I don’t want to be selfish, and I 
know it will be a great change to you, to come 
from home to that lonely old house, to share in 
anxiety and watching ; but when you get back, 
will you come to me?” 

“ I will come whenever you say, Regie,” and 
she looked up at him with a world of confiding 
love in the depths of her sweet, thoughtful eyes. 

As soon as you return, then, I claim you, 
and the thought will give me courage for the 
lonely weeks while you are gone. I don’t sup- 
pose I shall be able to go and see you, even for a 
day, for, although cousin Edward does not seem 
to notice, Jenkyns says he gets restless, and 


WILFRED. 


279 


misses me, when I’m out for any length of time. 
Come, dearest, it’s getting too cold for you to 
sit here any longer. Lady Margaret will never 
forgive me if you are ill,” and Reginald tried to 
speak cheerfully. 

Regie” — and Madeline’s face glowed — 
“ shall I ask them to let me stay with you, in- 
stead of going to Ventnor?” 

Don’t tempt me, darling, you know I want 
you to do what is right,” but, nevertheless, his 
face brightened. 

“ I will speak to papa and mamma, and let 
them decide for us,” she said simply ; and then 
they turned homeward, and went down the 
sloping path, among the dead leaves drifted 
there by the winds, and lying golden brown, 
in the wintry sun. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 


T UST how, or when it occurred, no one knew, 
^ but in the early morning, Reginald was 
roused from his slumbers by Jenkyns’ affrighted 
voice : 

Mr. Reginald, oh ! come quick, sir, master’s 
very ill.” 

The faithful servant who, ever since Wilfred’s 
death, had slept in the adjoining room, had crept 
in to see if his master was sleeping comfortably, 
and found him, with features drawn, and breath- 
ing heavily. Failing in his efforts to rouse him, 
he had rushed in, to wake Reginald. 

Harsh though he had once been to his own. 
Lord Lindisfarne had always b^en both just and 
generous to his dependents, and possessed their 
love and respect to an unusual degree. Jen- 
kyns (whose father had grown old and died in 
the service of the family), had been, first, foot- 
man, then valet, then butler, and had long held 
the place of confidential servant. As such, he 

had mourned in secret over the estrangement 
(280) 


WILFRED. 


281 


of father and son, and wept, with Mrs. Stratton, 
the untimely end of the latter, and the grief 
which had suddenly made an old man of their 
pioud master. Then came the brightness of Wil- 
fred’s coming, to gladden their faithful hearts, 
and they had hoped and prayed that master’s 
life might be happy at last. 

-Hopes unfulfilled! Prayers unanswered, be- 
cause we have hoped and prayed amiss 1 The 
world is full of such, and still we must hope, 
and still must pray, and whether discipline or 
blessing is the portion granted, must remem- 
ber that both come of God, and strive to let our 
Amens be ever alike fervent and sincere ! 

Dr. Gray came promptly ; declared the EarPs 
attack to be a stroke of paralysis, brought on by 
distress of mind, and gave a few directions, but 
held out very slender hopes of recovery. He 
might linger for months, or his life might ter- 
minate suddenly.” 

The news wrought a change in the plans at 
Lauriston. 

Lady Margaret and Mr. Lauriston had a long 
conference in the library together, and the re- 
sult was, they both agreed that it was not fair to 
Reginald to postpone the marriage until their 


282 


WILFRED. 


return, which would necessarily be indefinite 
It was a trial to give Madeline up just then, 
when her presence would have been a great 
comfort, but they had both been so ui selfish 
that they deserved to be rewarded. 

Reginald came in, pale and utterly dispirited, 
to spend half an hour in the afternoon, when 
Mr. Lauriston talked it all over with him, and 
the result was, that he left the library radiant ; 
rushed up to the school-room, three steps at a 
time, almost over-setting Miss Browning by the 
energy with which he flung open the green 
baize door, and startling Madeline, who was 
working rather listlessly on a sketch, promised 
some time before, as a contribution to Lady 
Lauderdale’s album. 

Susie and Rosalie went on practicing their 
duet, but their governess discreetly remembered 
something to be attended to down-stairs. 

The news flew at once through the house- 
hold, and had quite an exhilarating effect. Old 
nurse, who had considered it terribly unlucky to 
have deferred the wedding at all, was especially 
relieved at the new turn of affairs, and the twins, 
though at first loud in their lamentations at 
leaving “sister” behind, were somewhat con- 


WILFRED. 


283 


soled on hearing they should still be bridesmaids 
and wear their best white merinos. Rosalie and 
Susie, Maude and Elsie Lauderdale, were to be 
the others — the latter taking Lena’s place. 

Poor Lena said very little on the subject. 
She was very weak, and lay for hours with her 
eyes shut, scarcely noticing anything — a sad 
contrast to the merry, energetic child of but a 
few weeks back — and her parents, noting the 
change wrought by illness and sorrow, were all 
the more anxious to get her away. The answer 
from Ventnor being unsatisfactory, Mr. Lauris- 
ton telegraphed at once for apartments at 
Brighton, and the following Wednesday week 
being fixed for their departure, the wedding 
was to take place the day before. 

Lady Dunbar, having entirely withdrawn her 
opposition, wrote her regret at not being able 
to be present, but signified her intention of 
joining the family a fortnight later at Brighton, 
and in a most affectionate letter, accompanying 
a superb cashmere shawl and some of the Lau- 
riston pearls, begged her dear nephew and niece 
to consider themselves engaged to her for a long 
visit, at the earliest date it would be possible for 
them to leave home. 


284 


WILFRED. 


It was a very quiet wedding. Lord Lindis- 
farne remained very much the same, except that 
his consciousness seemed to return at times, al- 
though he was still unable to articulate. Max 
Lauderdale was best man,'’ in place of Wilfred, 
who was to have been. There were no invita- 
tions, but nevertheless the church was filled ; 
for both families were ver}^ popular, and the cir- 
cumstances of the marriage invested it with a 
peculiar interest, so that many came as much to 
testify their sympathy as to show their affection 
and respect. 

Martha consoled herself for the indefinite 
postponement of the wedding-tour by the reflec- 
tion, that no one could have a handsomer dress 
than her young lady, or a becominger,” and 
certainly Madeline was very lovely in the creamy 
satin and soft laces of her bridal attire. 

The choristers, at Reginald's request, chanted 
the 1 2 1st Psalm, from the Psalter for the day. It 
had been a favorite with Wilfred, and the words 
were peculiarly appropriate to the chastened 
spirits of both bride and groom. 

The Bishop of Exeter, an old friend of Mr. 
Lauriston, assisted by Mr. Denbigh, performed 
the ceremony, and the sunshine, streaming 


WILFRED, 


285 


through the ladder of light, in the painted 
window, wandered, in golden beams, from Reg- 
inald’s noble form to the slender figure by 
his side, as they knelt to receive the Bishop’s 
benediction. 

‘‘ To the Towers, Mason,” he ordered, as 
he followed Madeline into the carriage ; but 
Mason had to wait for assurance from John, that 
he had heard aright, before he touched his spir- 
ited grays into a rapid gait, which soon brought 
them to the Lodge. 

I do so hope he will be able to understand, 
darling,” whispered Reginald, as he led her up 
the broad stairs she had last ascended in obedi- 
ence to Wilfred’s summons ; and then he opened 
the door and led her to the bedside of the old 
man lying there. He was awake, and glanced 
from one to the other with a troubled look of 
inquiry ; but when Madeline took his hand, and 
stooped and kissed the pale forehead, a ray of 
intelligence came into the poor, drawn face, and 
the lines about the mouth relaxed, as if he were 
trying to smile. 

“ This is Madeline, my wife, cousin Edward, 
and we will take care of you together now,” said 
Reginald ; but the moment of partial conscious- 


286 


WILFRED. 


ness had passed, and the restless, anxio as look 
returned, as he closed his eyes again. 

Thank you for coming, my own wife,’’ and 
fur a moment Reginald held her in his arms, 
and then they returned to the carriage, and Ma- 
son lost no time on the road, so that they ar- 
rived at the Hall before any one had time to 
wonder very much at their absence. 

The clergymen, the Lauderdales, and Lady 
Jane Graham were the only guests at the wed- 
ding-breakfast. Sir Robert had found it impos- 
sible to be present, having gone to Scotland, to 
his sister, immediately after Wilfred’s death. 

The family were to leave by an early train the 
next day, so as to reach Brighton in good time, 
and Madeline found so many last words to say, 
and to listen to in return, that the early twilight 
was beginning to fall, when, with kisses and 
tears, the young bride bade farewell to home, 
and stepped into the Lindisfarne carriage, to 
which Mason had, with infinite pride, harnessed 
four horses in honor of the occasion. 

Blessings innumerable, and showers of rice, fol- 
lowed them, and even poor little Lena roused 
to some degree of interest, in hearing how the 


WILFRED. 


287 


footman had dodged the slipper, as he climbed 
into the rumble, and how it flew past his head 
and landed on the top of the carriage. “ And 
just as it should have done, my dears, * said 
nurse, nodding her head approvingly. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 


« T T 7 ELL, shall we go over now, or wait til] 
^ ^ after dinner?’’ asked Mr. Lauriston. 

‘‘ Say now. Sir Robert, if you wish to remain 
in papa’s good graces,” said Geoffrey, looking 
up at them with laughing eyes. 

Don’t listen to that young scamp. Bob,” 
said his father, with pretended dignity. “ Any 
time will suit me, you know.” 

‘‘ Now, papa,” cried Maude, “ do you mean to 
say you are not dying to show your grandson to 
Sir Robert ?” 

Ah .k there it is again! Margaret, why 
didn’t you bring these children up to be more 
respectful ? ” looking with mock reproach at 
Lady Margaret, who just then came into the 
room. 

‘‘ Because their papa did not help me, I sup- 
pose,” she replied, with a smile. Are you and 
Sir Robert going to the Towers now? ” 

“ That’s just the question,” replied the bar- 
(288) 


WILFRED. 


289 


onet. ‘‘ Pray decide for us, whether we go now 
or later/’ 

“ Oh ! now, by all means,” she answered, 
“so as to see baby to advantage,” whereupon 
there was a sudden clapping of hands from 
Geoffrey and Maude. Their father’s and 
mother’s pride in the little grandson at the 
Powers afforded them matter for much in- 
nocent raillery, although Geoffrey himself vied 
with the young aunts in worshiping the little 
fellow. 

“ All right, then ; ‘ my lady ’ has settled it,’' 
and the two old friends went off arm in arm. 

“ I can scarcely believe it has been eighteen 
months since Sir Robert was here, mamma,’' 
remarked Maude. 

“ How brown he is ! ” said Geoffrey. “ Don’t 
I wish I could have gone yachting with him, 
though ! ” 

“ That was a very amusing account he gave 
of his visit to Malta,” said their mother. 

“ Yes, and of the ball at Naples, when he 
forgot the name of his hotel,” laughed Maude. 

“He’s a regular trump, however you take 
him,” said Geoffrey, “ and a godfather worth 
having, for he’s promised to take me to Nor- 

19 


290 


WILFRED. 


way for some fishing next summer. I only 
wish it was not a whole year off!'' he added, 
with a sigh, being full of the energy and thirst 
for adventure which characterizes most youths 
of seventeen. 

Oh, bother ! " and the young Etonian sud- 
denly turned away from the window with an 
impatient shrug, and a look of displeasure on 
his handsome, ruddy face. 

My dear boy, what is the matter ? " asked 
his mother, looking up from her work. ‘‘You 
quite startled me." 

“ Why, here's that fellow again ! I don't see 
what he's always coming here for," replied Geof- 
frey in an aggrieved tone. “ I’ve been home a 
whole week, and he hasn’t missed a day ! ’' 

“ I must say you are not very hospitable," 
said his mother, with a smile. 

Maude made no remark, but bent more 
closely over her embroidery frame, so that her 
face was almost hidden. 

A firm, quick tread on the balcony outside, 
and then two shapely, sun - browned hands 
parted the lace curtains before the low French 
window, and a pleasant, manly voice asked per- 
mission to come in. 


WILFRED. 


291 


Geoffrey was too much his father's son to 
show any lack of cordiality in his manner, but 
it was beginning to dawn on him that Max 
Lauderdale might be in love with Maude, and 
his spirits were greatly perturbed in conse- 
quence. She was his favorite sister — the sym- 
pathizer in all, the sharer of many of his pur- 
suits — and he had always considered her his 
own especial property. 

Home wouldn’t be home without her," he 
said that evening to Madeline, into whose sym- 
pathetic ear he had been pouring his trouble, 
and, beside, she’s too young to be married ! 
She’s only a year older than I am, and I should 
like to see if papa and mamma, and all of you, 
wouldn’t say I was an idiot if I should want to 
be married next year ! ’’ 

‘‘ I am quite sure we should, my dear,’’ said 
Madeline, with difficulty suppressing a smile at 
the bare idea, as she looked in the boyish face, 
but managed to preserve her gravity when she 
saw how much in earnest he was. 

Perhaps you are taking trouble on interest. 
1 think they are scarcely engaged,’’ she sug- 
gested, demurely. 

Oh, you needn’t tell me that ! ’’ was the 


292 


WILFRED. 


impatient rejoinder. ‘‘ Don't I remember how 
Reginald used to come here to see you ? " 
which argument was conclusive. 

^‘Well, if Maude should marry Max — which 
is by no means certain — I am sure she could 
not find a nicer fellow," said his sister. He 
has been Regie's dearest friend ever since they 
were at school together, and he says he has al- 
ways been the same honest, straightforward 
fellow that he is now, and I know papa has al- 
ways thought very highly of the Lauderdales. 
You know old Sir Charles was ‘best man' at 
grandpapa's wedding." 

“ Oh, I know all that ! " replied Geoffrey, 
“ and I've no fault to find with him, if he'd only 
leave Maude alone." 

“Well, but Geoffrey, she will be sure to 
marry some one, and how much better it 
should be a person we all know and like, than 
some stranger we might end by despising. And 
she will be settled here within our reach, where 
we can see her any or every day, which I am 
sure will be a great comfort. Suppose she mar- 
ried into the army, and went off to India, or an 
attaM^ and spent her life in going from one 
foreign Court to another? Then it really 


WILFRED, 


293 


would be like losing her! Susie and Rosalie 
will soon be grown up now, and they will keep 
the house bright, and there’s Lena too,” said 
Madeline, trying to think of all she could say 
to console him. 

‘‘Not one of them can compare to Maude,” 
replied Geoffrey, scornfully. “To be sure, 
Lena is a plucky little chap. I like to see her 
sit that pony of hers, and I do believe she 
could ride to the hounds now, if papa would 
let her ! She isn’t one bit afraid of anything ; 
but, as for Susie and Rosalie, they don’t do a 
thing but talk to each other and giggle ! 
They’ll hardly ever even tell you what they’re 
laughing at, and, when they do, it doesn’t 
amount to anything. There’s never any point 
to their jokes.” 

“You must not be too hard on them,” said 
the elder sister, but she could not help wishing 
they had been behaving properly just then, in- 
stead of every now and then going off into fits 
of suppressed laughter, as they sat together in 
the bow-window, and she resolved to remon- 
strate with them at the earliest opportunity. 

“ Well, sister,” said Geoffrey, with a mourn- 
ful air, “ if she does marry him, do you think he 


294 


WILFRED. 


will like me well enough to ask me over some- 
times for a day’s shooting? ” 

I am sure he will, my dear boy ; and you 
know as soon as you finish studying, you are to 
have just as much shooting at Lindisfarne as 
you please. We settled the other night which 
room at the castle should be yours.” 

“ Thanks. Regie always was a ‘ brick,’ ” re- 
marked Geoffrey, moving away with a grateful 
look. 

What did Sir Robert say about baby, mam- 
ma?” asked Madeline, making room for her 
mother beside her. 

‘‘ He thinks him lovely,” replied her mother, 
“ and very like dear little Wilfred.” 

‘‘ I’m so glad ! think the Hkeness stronger 
every day, but ^7namie' says she can’t see it. 
Fortunately, it does not interfere with her love 
for the little man, and he is perfectly devoted 
to her, and laughs and crows whenever she 
comes into the room.” 

‘‘Yes, it has been a most satisfactory arrange- 
ment on both sides,” said Lady Margaret. 
“ She is a perfectly capable, as well as a de- 
voted nurse, and, at the same time, having 
charge of baby Wilfred, is a comfort to her. 


WILFRED. 


295 


and keeps her from feeling lonely and useless, 
as I think she did, after Lord Lindisfarne’s 
death.” 

That is what I told Regie ; and you know 
she has plenty to support her if she preferred 
to do nothing, and Regie offered her that little 
cottage in the park, where blind Jennie i^sed to 
live, but she refused it. It is certainly a great 
comfort to us to have that dear, kind face in the 
nursery, and we can never forget her devotion 
in helping to nurse cousin Edward through 
those melancholy six months after our mar- 
riage. Do you know, mamma, I so often wish 
he could have recovered his speech and mem- 
ory more perfectly? There was so little I could 
do for him, as it was, that I don't feel as if I had 
been able to fulfill my^promise to dear Wilfred, 
although I did what I could.” ‘ 

‘‘Yes, darling, I know you did,” said her 
mother, “but don’t wish it had been otherwise 
with him ; nothing could ever have made him 
know happiness again. His love for Wilfred 
was not only that of a parent for an unusually 
attractive child, but whatever he did for him 
was like an atonement for the past, which he 
remembered so remorsefully. It was far hap- 


296 


WILFRED. 


pier that his life should have closed peacefully, 
untroubled by memories, and only conscious of 
the care bestowed on him by those who loved 
him best/’ 

I think he did know us sometimes,” re- 
joined Madeline. Certainly he knew Regie, 
and, sometimes, Jenkyns and Stratton. I don’t 
think he remembered ^ ma mie^ but he evi- 
dently liked to have her wait on him.” 

Can’t you bring baby to-morrow and spend 
^the morning?” asked Lady Margaret. 

“ I’ll send him over, but I am going to church 
with Regie, to show Sir Robert the tablets, so I 
can’t come myself till afterward. I think I hear 
the carriage, so I’ll have to say good-night now, 
dear mamma, and get back to my little Wil- 
fred,” and the pleasant family party separated 
for the night, with the usual promises of meet- 
ing on the morrow. 

You can’t think what a comfort it is to have 
her so near,” said Mr. Lauriston, as he handed 
Sir Robert his candle. 

The Earl had been carried to the family bur- 
ial place, at Lindisfarne, where a monument had 
been erected to his memory, and one also over 


WILFRED. 


297 

Wilfred’s grave, on the sunny slope, where the 
violets were the first to bloom, but in St. 
Mary’s Church had been placed two brasses, side 
by side. The one was : 

Sacred 

to the memory of 

Edward Waldegrave Castlemaine 
Ferrars, 

9th Earl of Lindisfarne. 

Born July 4th, 1795, 

Died August ist, 1867. 

“ The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit. A broken 
and a contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise.” — Psalm 
Ixi. 17. 

The other : 

Sacred 

to the memory of 

Wilfred Vernon, Viscount Ferrar?. 
only child of the 

Hon. Wilfred Cavendish Ferrars, R.A., 
and of his wife, 

Louise Amalie de Beauvais ; 
and grandson of 

Edward, 9th Earl of Lindisfarne. 

Born February 9th, 1855, 

Died January 4th, 1867. 


“ Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God. — ' 
St. Matt. v. 8. 


2gS 


WILFRED. 


Sir Robert stood silently reading the inscrip* 
tions, and turned away without a word. 

“ The boy's whole nature was like an exquis- 
ite poem," he said, huskily, as they paused 
again by the little grave, which Lena's loving 
hands kept bright with flowers. 

‘‘Yes, and his life like a beautiful story," said 
Madeline ; “ only it ended too soon and too 
sadly." 

“ I think you are mistaken there, my dear," 
replied Sir Robert. “ He was too pure and 
guileless for this w^orld, and, however sad it 
may seem to us, we know that to him, at least, 
life's story had a happy ending." 


FINIS. 



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